


A Reunion

by PusillanimousBitch1138



Series: My Main Timeline [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Love, Romance, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-03-09 07:25:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18912295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PusillanimousBitch1138/pseuds/PusillanimousBitch1138
Summary: Varric is reunited with the love of his life, and Cassandra realizes she's been lied to. Varric decides to relent and tell her the real story.





	1. I Missed You

Cassandra’s POV

The people were settling in nicely to Skyhold. Cassandra was impressed, really. She hadn’t expected it to go as smoothly as it had been going. Sure, the castle was run down, but within a few weeks, it would be sufficient. The great hall had started being cleared out, and quarters were being arranged for the townsfolk. The Herald hadn’t stayed long—just enough to accept their recommendation that she become the Inquisitor. Cassandra frowned to herself. A Dalish Inquisitor. That was sure to bring some contention their way. She was glad it wasn’t her.

The long summer sun had warmed the wind a bit as it blew about her on the ramparts as she made her way to Cullen’s new office from the rotunda. Looking over into the courtyard, she observed the healers and surgeons, the merchants’ helpers carrying in merchandise, the people coming and going. She spotted Varric talking to someone at the top of the stairs leading into the upper courtyard, and she went to wave before she noticed him turning towards someone, and she paused to observe with interest.

Xxx

Varric’s POV

“Offer him double. We need his eyes more than we need the gold. Just be sure to make it clear that this is the last time I’ll be this generous. I—”

“Varric.”

He froze, hand stretched out awkwardly towards his messenger where he’d handed off the report. ‘It couldn’t be…’ The voice carried on the wind reached his ears as barely more than a whisper, but he’d know it anywhere. He nodded to the messenger in dismissal before he turned, every ounce of his body filled with…he honestly couldn’t tell what. Trepidation, fear, caution, preparation, excitement. It buzzed along his skin, both warning him not to get excited but tickling him, encouraging the rising pounding of his heart.

“Hawke.” He breathed her name, a brief exhalation that brushed away the fear in his body. It was her. She was here.

They stood a few feet apart for a long moment, her shockingly clear blue eyes scorching into his from where she stood beneath him on the stairs. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but within an instant they were in each other’s arms, hungry hands gripping at fabric, at skin, at hair, and Varric almost worried they’d get tangled in one another and fall off the stairs. They were laughing, crying, both of them trembling, and he pulled back to look at her, a gloved hand going to her cheek. It was really, honestly her. She’d lost a little weight since last he saw her, her long leather duster not doing much to hide the way her tunic hung a little loose about her waist, but she was as beautiful as ever. She’d tanned a bit, and dark freckles had risen along her cheeks, complimenting her dark maroon hair which had grown several inches and now sat along her sleek shoulders. She turned her cheek into his hand and pressed her thick pink lips against the leather, shutting her eyes against the feeling.

“You’re here,” he breathed.

She opened her eyes again and looked at him, her hand reaching up to cover his. “I’m here.”

He held her gaze for a moment, soaking in the moment, the setting sun against her silhouette framing her as the goddess she is, and in that moment there was only her, here in his arms. His hand moved as if it had its own mind, slipping to the back of her neck, pulling her forward so that he might kiss her, and fresh tears rolled down their cheeks. It was deep, passionate, filled with over a year of longing, of pining, and nothing would ever live up to this moment. His memories paled in comparison to the feeling of her warmth against his face, of her breath tickling his stubble, her hands running along his chest, one to his shoulder and the other resting against his heart. He’d written of her, not just of the Champion but of _her,_ of Belladonna, the woman who set his skin ablaze with want, the one who bid his heart flutter in his chest. He’d written of the way she felt beneath him, the way they somehow fit together perfectly every time they touched, the way he wanted to love her, the way he had loved her, the way he would love her, but the pure relief of having her in his arms again was a feeling he would never be able to put into words.

They parted breathless, and she rested her forehead against his, eyes screwed shut as if she were afraid to open them and find this had been a dream. Even though dwarves don’t dream, Varric feared the same.

Her breath rolled across his cheeks as she let out a trembling whisper, “I missed you.”

Xxx

Cassandra wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She’d noticed the beautiful woman entering through the gates as she’d exited the rotunda, but she’d thought nothing of it. Just another traveler, she’d thought. But there was something about the way she’d paused on the stairs that had caught Cassandra’s interest. Varric had frozen in place about when the woman had, and Cassandra assumed he’d heard or seen something that had caught his attention. It wasn’t until he turned that she’d put two and two together. Varric knew this woman.

The look on his face was something Cassandra had seen before, but she couldn’t quite place it. He exuded a myriad of emotions—confusion, relief, anticipation. With a start, Cassandra realized he was crying. He held the eyes of the woman on the stair for a long moment before they both moved in unison, practically sprinting the remaining few feet between them. Cassandra gasped, almost blushing at the way the two of them grappled at each other like beggars at a feast.

Varric knew this woman. Could this be the infamous Bianca? No, that’s ridiculous. Cassandra brushed the idea aside, frowning at her own stupidity. Bianca is a dwarf in the carta, and this was most certainly a human woman.

A… A human. Woman.

Realization thrust itself upon Cassandra like a cart full of stone.

Hawke. Belladonna Hawke.

Anger coursed through her veins, and she was glad she had nothing to throw. Varric was in contact with her this whole time. He’d _lied_ to her. He…

She frowned in confusion, watching as Varric held Hawke’s face. The softness in his own was… unexpected. She audibly gasped when he’d pulled Hawke’s face to his own, and another bout of realization dawned on her.

Varric Tethras was in love with Belladonna Hawke.

Suddenly, many things made sense. She was still furious. After all, Hawke could’ve done so much good for the Inquisition thus far. But. Some small part of Cassandra understood. He’d been protecting her, the woman he quite obviously loved. Cassandra turned to give them privacy and looked up at the sky. Would she have done the same, in his shoes?

The quickness and assuredness in her answer made her sigh.

Yes. She would have.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric begins again, with gusto this time.

Cassandra’s understanding of Varric’s situation wasn’t enough to truly wane her anger for long. She regretted the way she behaved towards Varric, attacking him as she had. Even more so after the Inquisitor got involved and scolded her like a child. Regardless, she stands by what she said—if Hawke had been here from the start, things could be going much better. But she begrudgingly could see his side, that if she had been here from the start, she could’ve died in the Conclave, too. What a mess. 

It’s because of this doubt, of the regret over her actions that she found herself outside the Great Hall that night. Normally, she didn’t go beyond the courtyard, avoiding the fancy prats as much as she could. She fidgeted for a moment, wondering if she shouldn’t just go back to the armory and leave well enough alone.

No.

She had to do this, had to understand. With a heavy sigh, she dropped her shoulders and stepped through the giant doors, rubbing her hands together nervously.

They were sat at a table near the fireplace, their shoulders touching, several empty tankards of ale sat in front of them. A few people had gathered around the table to listen to their tales, including Sera and The Iron Bull. Up above, Cassandra was surprised to see Dorian and Vivienne had also taken a seat to listen, and Cole was sat in a corner out of the way, obviously paying them great heed. He seemed…oddly pleased, a cryptic smile spread across his face. She wandered over to him despite the niggling warning in her gut telling her to avoid him, and she cleared her throat. “I see the Champion has settled in.”

Cole nodded his giant hat. “He’s happier now. All glitters and stars and warmth, like the comfort of a hearth at night. Her hands touch his and it feels like the sun, warm and welcoming and wondrous. He’s whole, now, complete, the piece that was missing before finally returned, and it’s as though she was never gone.”

Cassandra regarded the spirit out of the corner of her eye before turning to look at the couple. She could see what he was talking about. There was a light in Varric’s eyes that she’d not seen there before. He was smiling wider and with more feeling, and even in his gesticulations he always remained touching a part of her.

Her.

It occurred to Cassandra she’d never seen Hawke before, not personally, and certainly not this close. It wasn’t difficult to see that she was a truly beautiful woman, every bit as amazing and out of this world as Varric made her out to be in his books and tall tales. Underneath long, curled maroon hair sat two large eyes, so lightly blue that they almost seemed clear. Her thick pink lips were stretched wide in a laugh from something Varric said, and a dusting of dark freckles and a light blush were set across her cheek and her once-broken nose. She was elegant, every bit the regal lady Cassandra had pictured in her mind, with good but easy posture. 

Cassandra didn’t even know the woman and she was practically in love.

Varric noticed her lurking, and his expression darkened almost immediately. He was quick to slap his crowd-pleasing face back on and made some lame excuse about the lateness of the hour and how “he needs his beauty rest.” Many of the on-lookers groaned. Bull positively looked as if he’d just lost an arm and been struck across the face in one fell swoop. Everyone drifted away, and Varric stood, his hand resting on Hawke’s shoulder for a moment before he walked over.

“Seeker.”

She looked down at him, then back at where Hawke sat watching warily. Though she didn’t have her staff, Cassandra could feel the energy coming off of her, ready to defend Varric if need be. Cassandra cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but struggled to find the words. “I. Uh. Well.” She sighed, rubbing her face. “I…wanted to…apologize. I was…harsh this afternoon.” Varric snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s just… No. There’s no excuse. I am sorry for my behavior.”

He regarded her a moment then glanced at Cole who tipped his hat in a nod and vanished. “I won’t say I forgive you, but I’m listening. You obviously want something.”

She looked back up at Hawke then back down at him. “I know I have no right to ask this but… I would like the real story. Not as a Seeker but…as a friend.”

His expression softened slightly, but he paused a long moment, contemplating her words. After a torturous amount of time, he gestured towards the table and moved back to his seat. She couldn’t help but notice the way he moved forward as if to guard Hawke from her. It was endearing, really. 

“What do you want to know?” A feeling of déjà vu spread across her, promptly followed by guilt. It occurred to her she might have been the cause of their separation.

“Everything.”

He smiled then, soft but true. “Well then.” He turned back to Hawke and took her hand in his, relaxing at her soft smile. “It all started 8 years ago.”

Xxx 8 Years Ago xxX

Varric first heard of the Hawke siblings not long after they joined Athenril’s gang. He didn’t think much of it at the time, just a few more refugees being taken advantage of, nothing special.

And then Belladonna started making a name for herself. She was better a smuggler than most rogues, especially with Aveline’s and Carver’s added backbone. Within weeks, she’d gone from being Athenril’s lowly errand runner to damn near a partner, rather rare for Athenril. Her skill did nothing to shorten her servitude, though. 

Once her year was up, Varric isn’t ashamed to say he had been following her exploits a little more closely. He knew she’d be looking for work, and something told him she’d find her way to Bartand’s ugly mug after they went public with their expedition. Good. She’d be quite the asset to them. 

It was an unusually warm day in Kirkwall, the day he met her. He couldn’t have planned the meeting better if he’d orchestrated it himself. He’d been on his way to see Bartrand with a few names of interest, but then the pickpocket had come along, and it was as if Andraste herself were smiling upon him. With one expertly placed arrow, he valiantly took down the idiot and retrieved the coin, a smug grin spread across his face. But when he turned to give it to her, he almost lost his footing. Almost. The fact that he didn’t stutter or fall over his words was a Maker-given miracle. He jokes that all humans look alike, but he never really thought that. Sure, looking up from his height, a few features can get a little muddled, a little repetitive, but her? Maker, she was something else. Even in her hideous smugglers’ robes, she took his breath away. He faked through it, though, putting on the charm he’d spent years cultivating. It was easy enough, sliding the mask back into place. A small part of him was relieved he tossed her the coin so easily and that he didn’t drop the arrow as he twirled it back into its quiver. He was speaking words, an introduction, flashy most likely, but he had a hard time focusing on anything other than her eyes. They were bluer than the Amaranthine Sea and seemed to see right through his guise. Could she see through it? Maker’s breath, he hoped not.

He was surprised to find just how charming and witty she was. Many of her sharp retorts were enough to rival even his own quick wit. They often fell into seemingly endless streams of snarky comments that made those around them groan with exasperation.

Everything about this woman both confounded and enthralled him. In the few short weeks he’d known her, he’d already come to think of her as a friend. She was kind but harsh (particularly towards her brother who was quick to respond with stronger hostility, something to unpack for later,) hardened but not hopeless, smart but naïve, and most of all, she was generous. Despite their time limit and the lengths they were going to to earn the gold to sway Bartrand, she never turned down a plea for help. Andraste’s ass, she’d given a full 5 sovreign’s to Lirene’s charity box the moment she knew what it was there for. As pressed for time as they were, Varric couldn’t help but admire this quality in her. Sure, she was setting back hours, days of hard work, but that only seemed to make it more meaningful. She was funny, too. He hadn’t laughed so much around other people since the good old days when Bianca was still kicking around. Varric had been so prepared to hate this woman, to find her snotty and rude and unlikeable, but in almost no time at all he’d come to be unable to imagine his life without her in it. What had he done before Belladonna Hawke?

xxx

They were almost ready to leave for the Deep Roads. They’d collected a few new friends—Broody, Daisy, Rivaini, even the mysterious Blondie had thrown his hat in with them. They were all gathered at the Inn, laughing over one of Isabela’s stories, and as Varric looked around at his new friends he couldn’t help but feel as though he might call these people family someday. Someday? Who was he kidding? They already were. At least better family than Bartrand ever was. 

Something in the glow of the candles seemed to light Hawke’s hair on fire, and when she caught his eye from across the table, her whole body shaking with laughter, the shear brilliance of her eyes seemed to knock the air out of him. He prayed with all his might that no one noticed how quickly his laughter died out.

“So, Hawke, do you think we’re ready to approach Bartrand?” Broody set his chin on his hand, looking at her with a carefully masked interest.

Most everyone tuned in to the conversation as Daisy went to fetch more drinks for the table. Hawke cleared her throat and smiled slightly, shaking her head. “No, there’s one more thing Carver and I have to do before we can leave.”

Junior peaked up from his slouch in the corner, a raised eyebrow pointed at his sister. “We do?”

She rolled her eyes and said a soft word of thanks to Daisy as she took the newly filled flagon. “The will, stupid. I know, I know.” She turned towards him and put her hand up, silencing the boy. “You don’t care about the estate. But Mother does. She’ll need something to focus on while we’re away so she doesn’t run herself ragged with worry.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her as he took a flagon from Daisy. He downed a good half of it before slamming it back down and glowering at the elder Hawke. “By all means. You’re the boss.”

Varric and Fenris both seemed to catch the hostility in Carver’s voice. They caught each other’s eyes from across the table, and Varric was relieved to see that Fenris seemed as bothered by it as he was. Hawke seemed to ignore it, aside from a quick glare that Varric almost missed. Instead, she just turned back to her friends and smiled sweetly. “Fenris, Varric, would you mind accompanying us?” She smirked at Fenris. “Carver tells me the estate is filled with slavers.”

Fenris smirked but nodded silently, and Varric grinned. She didn’t need to ask at this point—he’d never turned her down, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. “Bianca and I are at your beck and call, messere.” He tipped his head dramatically, and a deep part of him was thrilled by the soft giggle that his actions elicited from her.

The others began to drift away, heading back to their respective homes for the evening, until it was just Hawke and him. Something was on her mind, but for whatever reason she seemed to not want to bring it up. He wasn’t going to force the issue, but he turned to face her openly so that she might know that he was there for her if she needed him. They were several flagons and a few stories deep when she finally sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “Varric.”

He looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Mm?”

Her words were thick with drink, and she swayed slightly in her seat. When she looked up at him, her mask had fallen away, showing him just how concerned she was. “I’m…Well, I’m worried. About what we’ll find. At the estate.” She narrowed her eyes in what Varric was sure was an attempt at anger. “I just know Gamlen screwed my mother out of her money. I just know it. But Carver doesn’t. For whatever Andraste-cursed reason, he likes that bastard.” Her knuckles were white around the handle on her mug. “Worse still, what if we find nothing? What if we find we truly have no claim to the estate and then we don’t find enough in the Deep Roads to buy our way to nobility? What if we’re stuck in that hovel for the rest of our lives?”

Varric reached across the table and covered her hand with his own, offering her a soft smile. “You won’t be. I swear it.”

She scoffed. “And how could you know that? What? Would you marry me, offer me your wealth and a status as the wife of a deshyr?”

He chuckled, though a part of him fluttered at the thought. “Not my first choice, but always an option.” He grinned at her giggle. “No matter what happens, whether we find thousands of sovreigns’ worth of crap, we find the deed to your estate, whatever, you’re my friend, Bells. And I take care of my friends.”

Her eyes misted over with tears before she brushed them away. She put her other hand over his and gripped it tightly. “Thank you, Varric.” Then, as if the gravity of their discussion was too much for her, “I’ve wanted a nickname from you for ages now.”

They’d laughed, spent another hour or so drinking themselves under, telling stories, speculating on their venture-to-be before Hawke began to yawn. Varric, ever the gentleman, insisted she allow him to escort her home. He’d had twice as much as her to drink, but he was barely buzzed whereas she was practically stumbling over every step. As they reached Gamlen’s “house,” she leaned against the door and stared down at him, eyes oddly focused. She looked as if she were going to say something but thought better of it. In one quick sweep, she leaned down and pressed a soft-but-sloppy kiss to his cheek. She straightened up and smiled as she opened the door and slipped backwards inside.

_Maker’s breath._


	3. Carver the Tit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric tells Cassandra about finding the Amells' will and the fight that it sparks between Belladonna and Carver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, REALLY hate Carver.

“That bastard. I’m going to kill him.” Hawke seethed with anger as she read over the will, and Varric cast Fenris a furtive glance.

“What does it say?” Ah, Carver. Ever the genius.

She clenched the paper in her hands and ground her teeth as she stood. “Mother got it all. Every single copper. And Gamlen spent it all.”

Carver shrugged. “And? What are you getting so worked up about?”

Fenris took a step back, eyes going wide. A line had been crossed, and everyone except Carver knew it.

Her voice was eerily calm as she spoke, but each word came with more venom than the last. “And? Oh, and nothing, I suppose. A family fortune, wasted in the span of 20 years. That’s nothing to get upset about, you’re quite right. Nevermind that the reason we just wasted an entire year of our lives in indentured servitude because of Gamlen’s incompetence. The estate and the money meant to provide us security in this rathole of a city, who needs it? Nevermind we live in a three room hovel, sharing a triple-decker bunkbed with our mother. I quite enjoy listening to her night terrors, don’t you? Nevermind our mother has nothing left of her parents or her life before us. So, no, Carver. You’re quite right.” An eerie and sarcastic grin spread across her face. “There’s nothing here to get worked up about. Nothing at all.”

By some miracle, Carver seemed to recognize that if he were to speak now, it would be disastrous, so instead he just looked away. Hawke ground her teeth some more as she cast the will one more look-over. Shaking her head, she scoffed and stuffed the paper into her sack. “Let’s just go. Mother will want to see this.”

Xxx

“…I’m just saying, blood’s blood and all but you are taking advantage of my hospitality. It’s only fair if you make something of a…monthly contribution.”

Hawke was positively vibrating with anger as she opened the door to Gamlen’s hovel. Varric reached over to put his arm in front of Fenris to prevent him from following the humans inside, which the elf seemed to agree was a bad idea. Instead, the two men leaned against the wall on either side of the door, listening intently.

“You sold my children into servitude! Now you’re asking me to pay rent?” Varric smirked slightly. It wasn’t difficult to see where Hawke got her fire from. Leandra may be a small woman, but Andraste’s tits if she weren’t a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to be.

“Uh. Maybe just put something towards food?” Maker’s breath, Gamlen was pathetic. Simpering and weak, backing down from the challenge as always. Varric felt deeply for Hawke having to put up with his shit for so long.

Hawke’s voice carried through, menacing and fierce. “We found the will.”

Carver butted in, his tone sounding as though he had been angered by the discovery all along. “Grandfather left everything to Mother and us. I guess he had some sense after all. See for yourself.”

Leandra read a few lines from the will and trailed off, as though accusing Gamlen of his crime.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You’re the one who ran away, Leandra!” Varric’s eyebrows shot up, and he cast Fenris an incredulous look, mouth slightly agape. Fenris seemed equally surprised, and the two of them leaned in further to better hear. Gamlen went off on a rant, the standard younger-sibling tripe that Carver often used against Hawke. The air around them was getting colder, indicating the depth of anger Belladonna was feeling. He trailed off with a simpering, “How long was I supposed to wait?”

They both waited on bated breath. “You’ll spend the rest of your life paying my mother back for everything you stole.” It wasn’t a request.

“Andraste’s ass I will!” Varric half expected Gamlen to be tossed through the door onto his ass. It’s not as though he didn’t deserve it. Instead, Leandra surprised them all, absolving him of basically all responsibility. After all that, Gamlen was off the hook.

After a long moment, Hawke threw the door open and stalked through, small sparks of electricity dancing around her clenched fists. She didn’t wait for her friends to follow her as she prowled away. Fenris gaped at Varric for a moment, but the two of them went running after her. Hawke maneuvered her way through the streets, straight to the Hanged Man. Once inside, she bee-lined straight for the bar where she reached over and took an entire serving jug of ale from below the bar. Taking a giant swig from it, she stormed her way up to Varric’s quarters. The two men followed her inside, a little breathless from the chase, and Fenris followed her obligingly. Varric paused just long enough to slip over to Corff and pass him a small bag of coins in payment.

“The nerve! I mean really? He spends it all, every single copper given to her from my grandparents, and then he has the audacity to try to extort more from my poor mother?” She scoffed, pacing around the length of the room, gesticulating wildly with sparking hands as she ranted. Varric and Fenris took seats at the table, watching as she let the steam out. After a good long half hour, she slumped down in a chair and took another long swig of the ale. “I just. I can’t believe him. Nor Mother, for letting him off like that. If it were up to me…” She trailed off, pursing her lips and clenching a fist in agitation before taking another swig from the jug. Neither of her companions knew what to say, so instead they settled for letting her catch her breath. She let out a sigh and smiled weakly at them. “I’m sorry, guys. I don’t mean to burden you with my shit.”

Varric chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. “Hey, what’s a night with Hawke without a little drama?”

The three of them shared a laugh and began talking again. Before long, Isabela and Anders made their way to the table to share in Varric’s generous purse and listen to each other’s’ tales over a few rounds of Wicked Grace. They were enthralled by one of Isabela’s exploits on the high seas when there was a knock at the door. Hawke looked up and waved, a big, drunken grin plastered on her face. “Hello, Lord Carver,” she called.

He sat down across from her, but Varric could see he wasn’t having it. “We’re still a long way from cowing templars with our titles, Sister.”

Hawke’s teasing expression faded into something Varric could only describe as “annoyed.” Eyes narrowing, she lowered her mug, but he could see how hard she was working to keep her expression calm and level. Despite the near-success of not showing her emotions on her face, her words came with more venom than he was sure she’d anticipated. “We took a big step with this. You should respect it.”

“Right, right, the glorious Amells, a noble lineage dating to the third blight. You know what that means. 700 years of people sitting around saying, ‘Wow, look how great we used to be!’ Mother didn’t even want that life back until we got dumped here. And you only care because we’re under templar scrutiny.”

The conversation around the table fell silent. Varric’s eyes went wide, and he could practically feel the anger rolling off of Hawke. A few of the others seemed uncomfortable by the growing tension, not without reason. Fenris and Isabela shared a nervous glance. “The second child act is getting pretty stale, Brother.”

Carver scoffed, the hostility in his own voice rising above his sister’s. “Try it from this side, always running after you or taking care of Mother while you mark your territory.”

Isabela looked as if she were going to say something in Hawke’s defense, but the mage put her hand up to silence her, and the Rivaini shrunk back in her chair. Her jaw twitched before she growled in a menacing tone, “That’s enough, Brother.”

Carver is many things. Strong, brave even, occasionally funny. But smart? Maker’s breath, Varric thought he could count on one hand the number of functioning synapses left in that moron’s brain. Too many blows to the head, he imagined, and it showed when that idiot kept going. “Even back home, what could I be? The lone blade in a house of mages? If I excelled, it would’ve brought too much attention.” He narrowed his eyes. “That was a waste, huh? Could’ve found my fortune if Bethany was going to die on your watch anyway.”

Varric grit his teeth and clenched his fists, the desire to pummel the fool almost too strong to ignore. That was the lowest of blows, even by Kirkwall standards.

Nobody around the table moved for what felt like an eternity, almost too afraid to breathe. They waited until Belladonna spoke, her voice icy hard, sending shivers up Varric’s spine. The air in the room had dropped several degrees, as it had at Gamlen’s house, her anger too strong to control. “You will not use her against me like that. She deserves better.”

“Then you should have given better!” He was on his feet now, glaring her down.

She slammed her sparking fists on the table, rising to meet his glare. “I gave everything! Question me, Mother, yourself, but not that!” A single angry tear slipped down her cheek before she pushed away from the table, nearly spilling a few mugs. She turned and stalked towards the door, growling out a simple, “Good talk.”

“Sister.” She froze at the door but didn’t turn to look at him, the air around her thick with unshed magic. “I feel… I don’t know. It’s like Mother, taking everything out on us. She was just scared. I don’t have a place in the life she is trying to bring back. I’m here if you need me, but I must find my own way.”

Varric heard the small tsk as she sucked on her teeth, probably fighting back some retort. After a short moment, she left, and Carver sat down. Everyone was silent for a long time, and Varric glared at the younger Hawke. Carver seemed to have forgotten they were present because when he remembered they were there, he cringed and tried to direct his attention to his goblet. Noticing Varric’s angry gaze, he scoffed. “What?”

Varric shook his head and pushed away from the table. As he rounded Carver on his way out the door, he let out a small, “You’re a real piece of work kid.” Behind him, he could hear their friends saying similar things, but he didn’t think they were following him.

It wasn’t hard to find her. There were only a handful of places she went in the city, and at this hour, there were only two or three of those she would go without backup. He found her after about an hour, sitting on the stone steps of one of the docks. She’d rolled her pants up and was sitting with her feet in the water. Or ice, as it were. She didn’t even seem to realize she’d frozen it as she stared unblinking at the Gallows.

He cleared his throat as if to announce himself, but she didn’t turn. After a moment, he took his own boots off and joined her on the step, albeit a few feet away where the water was still warm. The moon hung low and large over the peak of the mountain, encasing the area in a soft pale glow that seemed to turn her eyes to stone. He looked up at the looming towers then back at her. “You know, brooding is more the elf’s thing.”

A soft smile tilted the corner of her mouth up, making him grin in response. She glanced at him then, then frowned as if realizing just how far away he was sat. With a start, she looked down at the ice around her legs and cursed beneath her breath. She glanced around them, checking they were alone. With a wave of her hand, the ice melted into steaming water, and he scooted closer so that their arms were nearly touching. They sat there for a while, the waves lapping against the steps rhythmically, the moon glittering against the water. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been crying. “She would’ve hated it here.”

Varric turned his head to look at her. “Bethany?”

She nodded softly. “Too many templars, too much crime, not enough grass. She would’ve liked to have heard our grandparents didn’t hate us after all but…” She sighed. “I don’t think she would’ve been happy here, at all. I don’t even know if I’ll be happy here. It’s not as though this life were everything I’d dreamed as a kid.”

Varric turned back to watch the water, mulling over what to say. “It must be difficult, things ending up the way they have.”

“It certainly hasn’t been easy on my liver, no.” She chuckled once. “Bethany would have many things to say about that, as well.”

“You’ve never really talked about her before.” Most everything he knew about the girl came from Carver. Belladonna avoided the subject like the plague, and Varric hoped he wasn’t pushing any boundaries by inquiring about her now. 

Belladonna chuckled once, softly. “I haven’t, have I?” She dragged her foot through the water, a slow but intentional stream of electricity following her, sending a blue glow up their legs. “She was…” She struggled to find the words. “She was my best friend. It used to feel like us against the world, featuring Carver the Asshole.” She smiled sadly at a memory before her voice lowered to nearly a whisper, filled with lamentations and regret. “Our father was an apostate, as I’m sure you know. Ran away with our mother. When they had me, I’m told he was over the moon. Didn’t last long, though.”

“How do you mean?” How could anyone not be over the moon about this woman? 

With a sigh, “Our father had been in a Circle most of his life, namely this one. So, he’d prayed and prayed and prayed that his children wouldn’t become mages, that they’d be ‘normal’ and be able to… I don’t know. Have lives? Get married? Have little non-mage children? Shit like that.” Her expression became overcast as she lowered her face. “But I remember. My first spell. I was young, really young. Four or five, I think. We were at the dinner table, and I didn’t want to eat my squash. So I electrocuted it, blew it up. And my father… the look on his face.” She scowled, sitting up straighter, turning away from him. “He was… terrified. Angry. Confused. I don’t even have proper words for it. It was like all his hope for this world just… disappeared before him. He started my ‘lessons’ that day.” She emphasized the word “lessons” with air quotations. “Namely, we focused on how to hide my magic and how to channel it so I didn’t blow myself or the house up. He wasn’t teaching me how to be a powerful mage. He was teaching me how to evade detection, to be ashamed of my powers.” Her voice had begun to crack a little as the memories flooded back. “Then Carver and Bethany came along. He had such hope for them. Maybe two of his children would be normal, would have a shot at a good life. Then, when Bethany was five, Father cut his hand on a piece of farm equipment. Bethany, ever the sweetheart, kissed it, and it healed, and I remember his face so clearly. He wasn’t afraid, wasn’t angry. He was…almost proud.” She clenched her fists where she held them against her arms. “She was brought into our lessons and they changed, drastically. It wasn’t how to hide anymore, it was how to do useful magic, learning theories and histories. Offensive spells, defensive spells, healing spells. Nothing I’d ever spent time learning before. It stopped being so much about the Templars and how to avoid them and more along the lines of how to be a good mage. And she was. A good mage, I mean. A good woman.”

Varric couldn’t help but reach over and put his gloved hand on her arm, giving her a soft look. “That must have been difficult.”

She turned her head to look at her hand on his and smiled faintly. “I resented her at first. I was Father’s mistake, but she was his greatest treasure. It took me a long time to realize he was just dealing with his shitty situation as best he could, trying to keep his girls alive. She was about 10 when we started being good friends. We took to studying together, sharing our thoughts together, going to town together without Father.” She laughed, remembering something. “There was one time, we were going to the bakery. It was all three of us kids, and I was distracted. A Templar had come ‘round the corner, but hadn’t seen us yet, so Bethany pushed Carver into him and tackled me into a bale of hay. That idiot spent the next 15 minutes talking to that poor Templar about The Order and Templar training so Bethany and I could slip away.” She wiped her eyes hard, one hand still under his on her arm. “She loved all of us so dearly. It nearly broke her when Father died, she just wandered around for days in a fog.” After a minute, she took in a shaky breath. “She used to tell me that she wanted to be a part of the Amell family, that we should be nobility, safe in our high castles surrounded by our money and our loving grandparents, a big, happy family. If she’d seen this shit, what we’d been reduced to because of Gamlen…” She shook her head, an angry smile on her face. “I don’t even think there are words for how angry she would’ve been.”

Varric regarded her a moment. The loss was evident in her voice, in her face. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of it. “It sounds as though you cared for her a great deal.”

Nodding, she moved so she was standing and stepped a few steps deeper into the water, letting her fingers drag along the surface. “More than I’ve ever cared for anyone, if I’m honest. When she died…” Her fists clenched by her sides, and she turned her face away from him. “Mother said it was my fault. Carver says it was my fault.” She took in a shuddering breath. “And maybe it was.”

“No!” Varric jumped to his feet and reached for her hand, a fire in his eyes. “You can’t ever think that!”

She scoffed. “I was the one who left Mother’s side. If I’d been there to help Bethany, she wouldn’t have…” Her voice broke and tears began to fall from her eyes. “I wasn’t strong enough, quick enough to save her. I did everything I could and still…”

A fury burst within his chest, not at her but at everyone else in her life who had ever allowed her to feel this way. Belladonna Hawke had only ever been kind and generous, giving her all to those she cared about. How could someone bring her to this? He took a few steps down and reached for her arm. She turned to look at him, the moonlight making her eyes glow like magelight, and his heart shattered at the emotion in them. “You did everything you could have. Nothing you have ever done has ever given me any doubt that you didn’t do everything in your power to save your sister, and I’m sure she knows that, too. Carver is an unmitigated ass.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes seeming to search his for something though he wasn’t sure what. After a few seconds, she nodded weakly and turned into him, taking him in her arms. From their placement on the steps, he was almost as tall as her, and he wound his arms around her waist. Her head went to his shoulder, turned away from his face. “Thank you, Varric.” Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the water, but he nodded none the same.

They stood there for a long second, but not nearly long enough, though neither would admit it. When they parted, she looked down at him with a soft smile before she cleared her throat. “Well. We’d better get to bed. Big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

 _The Deep Roads. Right._ Varric smiled in return and nodded towards the city. “Let’s get goin’ then.”

He walked her to her door, a gentleman if ever there were one. A small part of him hoped she might kiss him again, as she had the last time he escorted her home in the wee hours. Not tonight, though. At the door, she bid him a soft spoken, “Good night,” and slipped inside with a smile.

He waited at the door until he heard Oberyn, her mabari, settle back down from his excitement at his master’s return. The road back to the Hanged Man isn’t a long one by any means, but Varric’s legs felt tired as if pulling iron chains behind him that grew heavier with every step.

Every step away from her.

Xxx

The next day was it, the big day. Belladonna was at his door bright and painfully early which in itself told him she hadn’t slept. In all the time he’d known her, she’d never been voluntarily up before the sun hung high overhead. She hadn’t come into his room, but she knocked hard against his doorframe and called into the darkness, “Rise and shine gorgeous!” a cacophony of hungover groans and cursing from fellow patrons following her words like an echo in the mountains.

He himself groaned. “It’s too early, Hawke,” he mumbled into his pillow.

She chuckled, and the sound put a sleepy smile on his face. “Tough, we’ve got to get a move on if we want to set out by midday.” With a sudden flurry of bright sparks in the dark, the candles all around his room burst to light, blinding him as if from the sun, and he cried out.

“Damned magic,” he growled, shoving his head under his pillow. She laughed again, but her footsteps began receding, and he knew she was probably on her way to assert her painfully sunny disposition on Fenris, who was also coming. Varric sighed heavily and contemplated the importance of the mission. Was wealth and fame really worth the agony of being up this early? Grumbling, he heaved himself out of bed and set about getting ready. Maybe not for him, but for her it was. And damned if he wasn’t going to do this for her.

The three of them met up near the Chantry, bags hanging off all shoulders. Fenris looked disgustingly peaceful and well rested this morning, particularly next to Hawke. Her eyes were rimmed with blackish circles from her lack of sleep, her irises even seeming a little dark. Her hair was clean but hadn’t been brushed since her bath so it hung about her shoulders in messy curls. She hadn’t even put makeup on this morning, the strongest indicator that she’d not slept. Vaguely, Varric wondered if she would even be alert enough to do this.

“Where is your brother, Hawke?” Fenris looked expectantly at their leader.

She rubbed her face and shrugged. “I don’t know. I told him to get up before I left, told him where we’d be.”

Varric quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure he got up?”

She scoffed. “I would hope so.” Beaming, she jerked her chin up. “I threw a bucket of water on him.”

The three of them shared a laugh and waited some more. It was nearly an hour later, and Hawke was getting pissed, but finally he came stumbling around the corner, obviously hungover. He stalked over to them and dropped his sacks, glowering at them all. “Sorry I’m late. I had to dry my clothes after someone threw water at me.”

Belladonna snorted. “Maybe don’t be such an asshole all the time and I wouldn’t want to. But enough. Let’s get a move on.”

The three of them walked together into the Merchants’ Guild square. Bartrand was stood at the feet of one of the paragon statues, talking to one of his lackies. Hawke and Varric nodded at each other and left their bags with Fenris and Carver before walking over to him. Varric smooth-talked him into agreeing to let them join the quest, much to Hawke’s delight.

A few minutes later, Bartrand was in the middle of making his grand speech about virginal caves and deflowerings when he trailed off and asked who had brought “the old woman.” Belladonna sighed heavily, running her hand through her hair before joining everyone to look at the Amell. “Maker’s breath,” she whispered.

Leandra smiled apologetically at the dwarf. “My apologies, ser dwarf. I need to speak to my children.”

Carver, fuming, joined Hawke at their mother’s side. “Mother, no. We talked about how important this is.”

“I just want to know one thing—Are you planning on taking Carver with you?” Leandra’s voice was full of worry.

Hawke turned to regard her brother. The anger he held in his stance hadn’t dissipated, and she sighed. “I can’t leave Carver behind. I need him.”

Carver also softened, lowering his shoulders. “I’m going. It will be fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Leandra’s voice was almost cracking as she held back tears. “You can’t both go. What if something were to happen to you? You,” she turned to Hawke, “I understand wanting to do this. But leave your brother here, I beg you.”

“I said I’m going. Besides, if we’re so bloody afraid of Templars (Belladonna sighed,) I should go and she should hide.”

Bartrand, ever the pragmatist, walked over. “Well you’re not gonna be able to take everyone anyhow. You’ll need to decide.”

“It’s Fenris and Carver, like I’d planned.” She smiled at Fenris and Varric. “I need my boys with me.”

Leandra ran over. “Carver, I beg you. Don’t go. Don’t do this!” She was nearly crying now.

He smiled at her and put his hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about me so. I can take care of myself. You’ll see.”

Leandra said no more, leaving them then. Bartrand hurried them along to gather their things, but they paused long enough to say goodbye to their friends who had gathered in the square. Belladonna made sure to hug each of them, kissing both Anders and Isabela on the cheek. She told Aveline to take care of everyone, “especially Merrill,” and hugged the stoic woman a second time, tears in both their eyes.

They set out moments later, eyes alight with the anticipation of the future.

If only they knew what lay ahead, maybe it would’ve been fear, worry, trepidation in their eyes instead.

Xxx

The fires in the Great Hall had begun to die with the late hour. The flickering light from the torch mounted on the wall across from Belladonna cast a darkness over her face. Clearing her throat, she stood from the table and gave Varric a soft smile. “I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He looked up at her and returned her smile with a gentility that made Cassandra blush. Taking her hand in his, he brought her knuckles to his lips. “I’ll be there shortly,” he whispered.

She leaned down and kissed his head before sauntering off, casting Cassandra a wary glance as she did.

Cassandra and Varric watched her go. After she disappeared through a door, Cassandra set her palm in her hand. “I understand now why you lied.”

Varric turned back to her, his eyes hardened. “Do you now?”

She looked back at the door the Champion had passed through. “You love her, that much is obvious. You were protecting her. From me, the Chantry, all of it. In your shoes, I might have done the same.”

Varric regarded her a moment before nodding. “You’re not mad then, I take it?”

She had to consider it a moment. “I am conflicted. If you had given her to us, things might be quite different. Though that is not necessarily a good thing, I suppose.” She sighed. “Things are how they are. I must accept it and move on.”

Varric stood with a nod. “I’m glad you see it my way, Seeker. If you’ll excuse me, it’s late, and I have a beautiful woman in my bed.”

She blushed furiously but nodded. “Would you tell me the rest of the story later?”

He smiled with an affection that surprised her. “Of course, Seeker. Good night.”

She watched him go, and as the door shut with a quietly echoing thud, she sighed, “Good night, Varric.”


	4. The Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric tells Cassandra about their time in the Deep Roads. The extended version.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is long. #noregerts.

Cassandra didn’t see Varric until the next evening. There were only a handful of people in the Great Hall today, Varric at his table and a few workers redoing some of the flooring. She walked over to him and cleared her throat. “I am surprised to find you alone, Varric.”

He glanced up at her, his quill still scribbling away. “The Inquisitor asked to talk to Hawke about Corypheus.”

“That is most practical.” She hesitated before gesturing at the seat beside him. “May I sit?”

He gestured to it with his unused hand, brow knit in concentration. She sat and allowed him to finish whatever he was working on, which only took a few minutes. Once he set his quill down, he sat back with a sigh and looked at her. “So, can I assume you’re here for more of the story?”

“I could come back later if you—” She started to stand but stopped when Varric held up his hand.

“No, no. This is good actually. Hawke doesn’t like talking about the Deep Roads. It just upsets her.”

“I would imagine it does, if what you told me the first time was true.”

“It was, but there’s a little more to it.”

Xxxx The Deep Roads xxxX

They made good headway into the Roads before they came across a caved-in route. Varric offered the four of them up to find another route, which Bartrand allowed. The rising hostility from him hadn’t escaped neither Varric’s nor Hawke’s notice. As they scouted ahead, she fell back to walk beside him, Fenris and Carver clearing the way ahead of them.

“So Bartrand seems a pleasant fellow.” Her tone was light, cheery, a stark difference than when she speaks to her brother. With Carver, she sounds drained, tired, annoyed, and he can’t say he’d blame her.

He snorted. “Not a word I would’ve chosen. But something’s up. He’s being a bigger ass than usual.”

She sighed wistfully. “Maybe he’s fallen madly in love with me but knows my heart is a prize ne’er obtained, and as such he is acting out in an attempt to distance himself from me and my affable nature.”

Varric chuckled. “The day Bartrand has a pleasant feeling is the day I grow a beard.”

They both snorted, catching the attention of the others. Carver rolled his eyes and pushed ahead, though Fenris’s gaze lingered on Hawke. She didn’t notice, however, as she adjusted her pack on her back. Varric studied the way the elf looked at their friend, and a pang of jealousy hit him. Confusion was fast to replace it, because since when was Varric the jealous type? Since when was he jealous regarding Hawke? Fenris looked back ahead, and Varric settled down, pocketing that new piece of information for detailed study at a later date.

Clearing his throat, he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “So, never, huh? What, is Bartrand not your type?”

“Unfortunately for him, no.” She halted for a moment and leaned down to her hair up into a high ponytail, securing it in place with a red ribbon made of silk. He waited for her, the others not noticing their pause.

“What is, then?”

“Hm?” She looked at him, her exhaustion becoming evident in her eyes. It had been nearly two weeks since they left, and still she had barely slept. Down here in the Deep Roads, she was beginning to look something of a ghost.

He nudged her as they walked. “Your type. What’s your type? Tall, dark, and handsome? Scrawny and stupid? Foreign princes with eyes as clear as ice, jawlines for days, and exotic accents?”

She laughed, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “Maker’s breath, Varric. We’ve spoken to that guy maybe twice! He’s pretty, yeah, but,” she sighed wistfully, her tone lamenting, “he’s married to the Maker. How can I possibly compete with that?” The two of them chuckled, and she took a drink from her canteen. “No, I don’t really have a type if I’m honest. I like anyone and everyone. Just not assholes like Bartrand.” She raised her voice. “I’ve already got one angry shit in my life who won’t leave, I don’t need another.”

Carver scoffed and threw up his middle finger over his shoulder. “I love you, too, sweet sister of mine.”

“Anyone and everyone, huh?” Varric chuckled, nodding thoughtfully. “That explains The Blooming Rose, then.”

“Hey, don’t judge. Serendipity and I have a special bond. She takes care of me.” She laughed once, softly. “But, alas. I’ve no love in my life. There is this one guy I’m pretty interested in, but I don’t think it’ll go anywhere.”

The jealousy was back, stabbing him in the gut. _What in the Maker’s name was going on with him?_ “Oh? What gives you that impression?”

She made a point of trying to look invested in the stalactites hanging overhead. “He’s still hung up on his ex pretty badly.”

His…ex? She couldn’t mean him, could she? His heart fluttered at the thought, but before he could think of a teasingly witty remark, an arrow flew past their heads, and they were thrown into yet another fight against Darkspawn.

Varric hadn’t found another opportunity to continue their conversation, though he certainly hadn’t forgotten it. They’d found a way around pretty easily, the most trouble being a cavern full of dragonlings and a rather large dragon. Hawke had taken a bad hit to the shoulder, and without Anders there, she would have to handle the pain. Even potions weren’t enough to cure it completely, and despite her brave face, everyone seemed to see how badly it was bothering her. They’d started guarding her better, flanking her from all sides, and Fenris even insisted he carry her satchel despite her protestations.

They arrived at the thaig a day later, and nobody knew quite what to make of it. Bartrand was bewildered, confused, and Hawke was mostly in awe. Varric couldn’t blame her. He’d never been in a thaig before, but he’d seen renderings and drawings of them, heard stories.

Bartrand and the hirelings were busy exploring the main cavern, studying the strange red spires and the like.

“Let’s scout ahead, see what else this place might have in store for us.” Hawke shouldered her staff and grinned lazily at her companions.

Fenris frowned. “You are still injured, Hawke. Perhaps it would be best if we remained with the group.”

“Indeed, Sister. The last thing we need is you falling in battle. I’ll not be responsible for telling Mother I let you die.” Carver sneered at his sister.

She sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m fine, honestly. Maker knows I wouldn’t dream of leaving our poor mother at your mercy.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t snip back, surprising them all.

“Well then. Let’s go see what dusty treasures we can find, eh?” Varric beamed at his friends.

On their way out of the main cavern, Hawke stopped and exchanged her random tidbits and treasures for potions from Bodahn. They talked for a while, Bodahn thanking them once again for finding Sandal, and though Hawke was a sarcastic person by nature, she was genuinely polite and almost pleased to speak with them. As they walked away, Hawke patted Sandal on the shoulder and gave him a cocky grin.

They halted at the top of a staircase and pondered the potential of a room not far away. It was pretty much unanimous that there would be nothing of true value, but it was worth a peak. They hadn’t made it more than six or seven steps before some 10 Shades appeared and began to attack them. Varric took up position in front of Hawke to help protect her as her casting was much slower than usual. Fenris and Carver flanked the horde, each of them sparing no expense. Just when it seemed that the fight was nearly over, a statue a few feet to Varric’s left came to life, though neither he nor Hawke seemed to notice it. With one fell sweep of its huge arm, the two of them were thrown against the far wall as if they weighed nothing more than feathers. Fireworks burst in front of Varric’s eyes, and though he could see what was happening before him, the images held no meaning, no significance. It took him a long moment to regain his senses. Fenris and Carver were both fighting with nearly all their strength against the monstrosity, and Varric groaned. It took him another moment to realize there were no spells being cast, no thunderstorms being summoned, no fireballs thrown, nothing.

“Hawke?” He coughed as he sat up, his whole body burning with pain. Panic began to well in him as he looked around, and when he finally spotted her a few feet away, he almost couldn’t breathe. Crawling over to where she lay, he looked her over for injuries. “Hawke?” Her head was bleeding from the back, but she was breathing if barely.

The sound of fighting behind him died out, and within seconds the others were sliding over on their knees to assess their fallen leader. Fenris dug in his satchel and pulled out a potion, ripping the cork out with his teeth. Wordlessly, Varric helped adjust her so she might be able to drink, and Fenris poured the thick liquid down her throat.

“Damnit, Sister, you’d better wake up, or so help me I’ll kill you.” Carver’s fists were clenched at his sides. As much as the two of them hated one another, some small part of them did love the other, somewhere way deep down.

They all waited on bated breath. Over the course of a few minutes, the bleeding stopped, and her breathing evened out. With a collective sigh, they relaxed, and Fenris and Carver both began to tend to their own wounds. Varric stayed by her side and took her hand in his. Under his breath, he sighed, “Always keeping us on edge, aren’t you?”

“Someone has to.” Her voice was weak, as was the smile that ghosted across her face. She turned to look up at him but winced.

“No, don’t move. You’ll just hurt yourself more.” He chuckled, more out of relief than anything else.

She sighed but obliged, dropping her head back to the ground. He helped coax another potion into her, and they watched as Fenris and Carver bickered over the proper way to bind a particular wound. “What a bunch of old biddies,” she whispered. The two of them snickered, and Fenris and Carver both turned to them bewildered which only made them laugh harder. Hawke held her side, obviously in pain, but for some reason that just urged her to laugh harder. Once they settled down, she was nearly crying, but her spirits seemed lifted. They sat in a circle for a while, sharing a loaf of bread among the four of them, Hawke drinking another potion. They talked about small things—what the thaig had in store, how shitty Bartrand is, what they would do with any money they found, and it was peaceful and happy. Even Carver seemed to have pulled the stick out of his ass for a while, and it was almost possible to imagine the two Hawkes as loving siblings. Almost.

Once Hawke felt well enough to walk, they returned to their mission and entered the new section of the thaig. It was remarkably well preserved, barely a scratch in the tall walls. Hawke had taken to using her old staff as a walking cane, a soft “tink” of metal on stone echoing off the walls around them, her newer, fancier staff hanging off her back.

They came to a new antechamber, large, sharp stalactites hanging precariously from the ceiling, a side wall blown through from a cave-in.

“I think there’s a chest or something up those steps.” Hawke gestured with her staff ahead of them and looked at Varric.

He nodded and adjusted Bianca on his back. “I think you just might be right. Let’s go.” He led them up the stairs but paused. It wasn’t a chest. It was a stone slab, and upon it lay an idol of some sort. He walked over to it. “You see what I’m seeing?”

“Is that…lyrium?”

“It doesn’t look like any kind of lyrium I’ve ever seen.” He turned behind him to where his brother had just entered the room. “Look at this, Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune.”

Batrand whistled. “You could be right. An excellent find.” Something was off in his voice, but Varric thought nothing of it.

Hawke went to pick up the idol and it sparked and glowed beneath her touch. “Not bad. We’ll take a look around, see if there’s anything further in.” Hawke tossed it to Varric, and a strange sensation flowed through his body, a warmth unlike any he’d felt before. Reluctantly, he turned and tossed it to Bartrand, and the warmth was gone.

Bartrand looked at the idol with a strange glint in his eyes and turned towards the door. “You do that,” he growled beneath his breath.

Varric turned back to Hawke and began to say something when she looked towards the door. Her eyes went wide. “The door!” The four of them ran to try to catch the door from closing, Hawke sliding down the banister to make haste, but to no avail. The resounding thud of the stone sliding into place echoed all throughout the chamber.

“Bartrand! It’s shut behind you!” Varric joined Hawke to try to heave the stone back.

From the other side of the door, they could hear Bartrand’s sinister chuckling. “You always did notice everything, Varric.”

Hawke and Varric shared a look, concern written across her face as she leaned on her staff. Bewildered, Varric thumped his fist against the stone. “Are you joking? You’re going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?”

“It’s not just the idol! The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I’m not splitting that three ways.” There was a pause, and for just a moment Varric thought he could hear a sort of ethereal whispering before Bartrand called, “Sorry, Brother.”

“Bartrand!” He punched the door again, voice rising to an angry yell, “BARTRAND!” But he was gone. “I swear I will find that son of a bitch—sorry, Mother—I will kill him!” Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and turned towards his friends. “Let’s hope there’s a way out of here.”

“Well, we’re in it now. This all part of your plan, Sister?” Carver scowled at Hawke, his arms crossed over his chest.

She scoffed at him, leaning forward on her staff. “Yes, Carver, this was all part of an intricate plan. Cave-ins and injuries and golums and betrayal, yes, absolutely. What, do you want me to apologize for not giving you the program beforehand? Well, just to be clear, I am fully expecting to come across at least a few demons and darkspawn before we reach the surface. Gasp. I know! It’s insane!” She glared daggers at him, hand sparkling where she held herself upright. “I don’t know what it is you want from me, Carver, but go look for it over there.” She gestured with her hand towards the back exit. He shook his head at her, teeth and fists clenched before he spun on his heel and stormed his way up the stairs.

Fenris did better to hide his anger at the situation than Carver had. He turned and followed the younger Hawke with a heavy sigh. Hawke looked down at Varric, her brow knit in concern. She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Varric. About Bartrand. And Carver, but mostly Bartrand.”

He looked up at her, into her crystal eyes, and part of him softened at the regret he saw there. He patted her hand and did his best to offer her a smile, though he knew it wasn’t quite all there. “No, Bells, I’m sorry. I’m the one who dragged you down here.”

She snorted, and the two of them set off. “Varric, you couldn’t drag me anywhere if you tried.” The two of them shared an empty laugh as they climbed the stairs.

Xxx

The path back to the surface was long, but after the rock wraiths it was almost no problem. In truth, the worst part was carrying all the gold they’d taken. About a week from the surface, they were sitting around a small campfire in a cave off the main road. Fenris had managed to find a small nug warren about an hour ago and now a rather large one was currently roasting over the fire while Fenris sat in the corner, cleaning and salting the carcasses of two others to make jerky.

They were laughing over some joke Varric had told, Hawke holding her healing side. Carver was the first to catch his breath again, and he moved to adjust the nug in the fire. “Garrett would’ve loved that one.” Hawke’s laughter cut out as if he’d punched her. Carver, for once, seemed to realize he said something wrong because he grimaced. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

She didn’t say anything, moving her legs out in front of her. Varric quirked an eyebrow at the newfound tension in the air. Fenris paused and tilted his head. “Who is Garrett?”

“He was—”

“We don’t talk about him.” Hawke cut Carver off sharply, voice steeled.

Carver scowled. “No, we don’t. We _never_ talk about Garrett. And why is that again, Sister?”

The air in the cave dropped to below freezing in the blink of an eye as Hawke’s fists clenched. “Don’t you dare.” Her teeth were grit, fists clenched tightly in her lap, sparks dancing across her fingers.

“Oh, that’s right, because _you_ got him _killed._ Just like Bethany. It’s all you’re good for, killing everyone who ever loved y—”

In the blink of an eye, Carver had been thrown back against the wall. Hawke was breathing heavily, her hand outstretched from the spell she had just cast. Fenris was standing in front of Carver almost immediately, guarding him from Hawke’s fury.

“Bells—” Varric was reaching out to touch her shoulder but the look she gave him sent an icy chill down his back. He withdrew quickly, and he must have looked at her wrong because shock flashed across her face before pain took over. She clambered to her feet, took her staff, and dashed out the cave.

Fenris looked at Varric, bewildered, before they turned to Carver. “Are you injured?” When Carver shook his head, Fenris scowled, lifting him by the collar. “Then what in the name of the Maker was that?”

Carver scowled back, pushing Fenris away from him. “Why don’t you go ask our glorious leader.”

Varric held his hand up to Fenris and shook his head. “I’ll go. You stay here and guard the idiot, make sure the nug doesn’t burn.”

Fenris nodded back to him, and Varric left after Hawke, Bianca slung on his back. He found her sitting against a derelict staircase, her knees drawn to her chest, tears streaming down her face. When she heard his footsteps, she wiped her eyes and turned her face away from him.

He hesitated, unsure of how to approach her, of what to say. Finally, he walked over and sat beside her, close enough to feel her presence but not to touch her. After a long time, she leaned over so her head was on his shoulder, her arms going around his arm. He worked to keep his breath steady so she was comfortable and reached over to pat her hand on his arm. “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he whispered.

She shook her head and gripped his sleeve tighter. “N…No. I don’t talk about it…about _him_.” Her voice fell to barely a whisper, yet somehow it carried enough grief and pain within it to make Varric’s heart shatter. “I can’t.”

“That’s alright, Bells. We can just sit here, yeah?” He laid his cheek upon her head and placed his hand over hers.

They sat like that for a long time, nearing upon an hour before she pulled away from him. It was a slow movement, hesitant, like she didn’t want to let him go. “Thank you, Varric.”

Before he managed to get a word out, she was on her feet, a hand going to her staff. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear—” And there it was, the unmistakable sound of metal against metal, a fight being fought. They shared a look before they were running, staff and Bianca both at the ready. They arrived just in time to see Carver being overwhelmed, Fenris’s skin glowing as he fought off his own small army a ways away.

“Sister!” Carver’s voice was pained as he called from the fray, and she could just barely make him out amongst the Darkspawn.

They sprung into action, Varric knocking bolt after bolt as Belladonna cast vigorously. Their added assistance turned the tide, though the battle was far from easy. It dragged on for far too long, and by the time Fenris struck down the final creature, Carver was sitting against the cave wall, Hawke was leaning on her staff surrounded by lyrium vials, and Varric was making the rounds, pocketing any loot and gathering up the salvageable bolts.

Hawke took another, small vial of lyrium from her belt and downed it, then righted herself and made her way over to Carver. “Fenris, Varric, you guys hurt?” She knelt beside her brother who was clutching at his bleeding side and swatted his hand away to start healing him.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Hawke,” came Fenris’s dour reply.

“Psh, you know it takes more than a few ugly mugs to take me down, Bells.”

Hawke smirked as she finished up dealing with Carver’s injuries then pushed herself to her feet with a pat on his shoulder. It didn’t escape Varric’s notice that she did so with a slight stumble, their time down below the surface clearly beginning to wear on her. She made her way over to Fenris and began healing him despite his protestations, and Varric had to pause to smile at the scene. Much like her namesake, she acted very frequently like a mother bird, and they her children. Her hawklings, as it were. Despite the broody elf’s struggles, she made quick work of healing him, but it obviously took a lot out of her. Her breath came strained, winded as she spoke. “I think we should try to find some more defensible ground for the night to set up camp.”

Fenris nodded solemnly and began picking up some of the heavier bags while Varric set about snuffing out the fire. “I never was one for camping near Darkspawn, anyway. Takes weeks to get the smell out of my hair.”

Hawke snorted as she gathered some of the lighter packs and offered her hand to Carver to help him off the ground. “And goodness knows we can’t have that. Your horde of women will be beside themselves.”

They shared a chuckle while Carver scoffed. “Get a room,” he grumbled.

Hawke’s ear twitched and she side-eyed her brother. His voice sounded…off, and he was carrying himself strangely as though he were still wounded, though she didn’t see any injuries beyond the ones she had already healed.

They pushed further into the Roads and came to a wide cavern and a bridge. Hawke paused to survey the area and a realization hit her.  “This part of the Deep Roads looks familiar.”

“So we’re back where we started, and in only 5 days. Not bad, eh.” Varric seemed overly pleased with their progress. Hawke had to admit, she was also rather impressed. She would be even more impressed if they didn’t still have a week left in their trek, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Think we could…take a break? I feel…wrong.” Carver did, indeed, sound off, but it didn’t quite register as an emergency in Hawke’s mind.

With a teasing tone in her voice, she called back over her shoulder, “I think all our stomachs are a bit tender right now.”

“I’ll wager it was all those dark mushrooms we found.” Hawke could always count on Varric to pick up on her sarcastic remarks.

“No, it’s…”

Hawke turned just in time to see Carver falling to the ground in a crumpled heap. She was quick to dart to his side, packs shrugged off her back as she went. “Carver!”

His face had paled considerably, and his eyes had clouded significantly. His skin was cold to the touch as Hawke cradled his face. “It’s the blight, isn’t it? Just like that templar, Wesley. I’ll be just as dead, just as gone.”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” Coldness had filled Hawke’s veins, her heart pounding in her ears. It was the blight. He was right. But damned if she was going to let this happen again. Not again.

“I’m not going to make it. Not to the surface, not anywhere. It’s getting worse.” Hawke shook her head, tears threatening to spill over her eyes.

Varric came closer to them, his heart aching in his chest. He shared a forlorn look with Fenris before putting his hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “We’re in the middle of nowhere… We can’t help him.” Hawke turned to look up at him, her breath catching in her throat, but he could only offer her a look of shaded pain. Fenris looked similarly hopeless, having set the bags down and standing off to the side, leaning on his sword with his hair in his eyes.

Varric stepped over to Fenris to give them some more privacy, and the two of them walked a short ways away to keep guard.

Hawke was struggling hard to keep it in check, to stop herself from openly weeping. She wouldn’t let her snotty face be the last thing he saw, so she tapped it down. She moved so that she was sitting, his head in her lap. After sucking in a trembling breath, she smiled down at him and stroked his hair. “D’you remember the day you ate that pie that mother made for your birthday?”

A shaky laugh escaped his lips as he nodded. “The peach one?”

“Father nearly whacked you with his staff, made you do the laundry for a whole month and Bethany kept ‘spilling’ things on all her clothes?”

The smile fell from his face. “I miss her so much.”

Tears filled Hawke’s eyes again as she nodded. “Me, too.”

There was a moment of silence before Carver reached up to hold her cheek. “I… I’m sorry. About what I said before. About Garrett.”

She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek which he brushed away. “There’s nothing to forgive.” Her head tilted back as she looked up at the roof of the cavern, trying to hold back her emotions. “You were right. It was my fault.”

“No.” His voice was surprisingly hard, given how weak he was. She looked back down at him and was surprised to see him scowling. “You had no way to know.” He winced as if something were hurting him and withdrew his hand. She placed a healing spell to his stomach, trying to stave it off. “I would have done the same, Donna.”

She nodded, smoothing his hair back. “Thank you, Carver.”

The light in his eyes was beginning to darken, and he took a raspy breath. His hand weakly found hers. “You’ll do it, won’t you, Sis?”

She swallowed hard, dryly, and managed a trembling whisper. “You always did ask for the world, Carver.”

His hand over hers squeezed, and a faint smile on his lips. “And you always gave it.” He reached up with a trembling hand and put his hand on the back of her neck, drawing her closer to him. Her tears dotted his cheek as they fell from her face. “It’s just you now. Take care of Mother.”

Fenris and Varric heard nothing for several minutes and shared a concerned look. Before they could turn back to see what was happening, they heard a clattering of metal falling on the ground then Hawke sobbing then her sobs quickly turning to shrieks of agony. They turned, then, and tears sprung to Varric’s eyes. She was leaning over him, cradling him to her, his blood pooling around them with a bloody dagger lying on the floor. Varric moved to go to her, to comfort her, but Fenris’s gloved hand on his shoulder halted his steps. He looked back at the broody elf with an expression of shock and agitation, but Fenris only shook his head slightly. Varric looked back at Hawke, his heart throbbing across his entire body, fingers twitching with the desire to hold her, but he knew Fenris was right. She needed some time. So, they turned their backs to her again and gave her the privacy she needed.

It was nearly three hours later that she stirred and lifted Carver’s head from her lap. She rose to her feet and picked up her staff before wordlessly turning around and heading back the direction they’d come. Varric jumped to his feet and cast Fenris a bewildered look before he ran after her. “Hawke!”

She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the two of them, Fenris rising to his feet with a confused expression on his face. Her voice was barely audible, wrought with pain. “Stay here. With…with him.”

“No, no way, Hawke. I’m not letting you go back in there alone.” He righted Bianca on his shoulder and puffed his chest out, standing his ground.

She stared at him for a long moment with unblinking, puffy eyes before nodding. “Fenris.” She looked past Varric at the elf. “Would you stay?”

Fenris nodded and bowed his head. “Of course, Hawke.”

Without another word or glance, Hawke spun on her heel and stalked off. Varric scrambled after her and fell into step beside her. He watched her out of the corner of his eye but didn’t try to press it. They walked on for a while before coming to a sharp turn which lead them to an abandoned way station they had scavenged earlier. Varric stood in the doorway and watched as she flitted about the room, breaking anything wooden she could lay her hands on, her staff leaning against a wall. After she had a respectable pile in the middle of the floor, she looked over at Varric. “There was a… a wheelbarrow… thing… down the road a ways.”

He raised an eyebrow at her but nodded, pulling Bianca off his back. “Sure thing, Bells.” It took him nearly half an hour to find the wheelbarrow, but thankfully it wasn’t crumbling like the rest of the Roads. The trip back to her took less than 10 minutes since he knew the way to go, but by the time he got to the way station again, the pile had nearly tripled in size. Hawke was leaned over a rather sturdy and heavy looking table and apparently the last piece of furniture in the whole place. From the tracks in the dust, Hawke must’ve been dragging it. Varric cleared his throat to announce his presence, and her shockingly blue eyes snapped to him. “I uh… I got the thing.”

“G… Good. Yes.” She looked down at the table again. “Would you mind loading the pile into it?”

He set his coat and Bianca against a wall and eyed her as he set about the task. “Sure, Bells.”

By the time he had the wheel barrow filled, she had managed to drag the table almost to the door but stopped to catch her breath, sitting on it. Varric walked over to her and leaned against the table, looking up at her. “You wanna talk?”

A long moment of silence stretched between them, so long Varric might’ve given up if it had gone on any longer. “I…” She clenched and unclenched her fists for another minute before taking a shaky breath. “I’ve gotten them all killed.”

Varric frowned and stood up straight, moving so he was directly in front of her. “Hey, no you haven’t.”

She shook her head and stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap. “All of them. Dead. Because of me.”

“Bells.” She didn’t look up at him, so he ripped his gloves off, reached forward, and took her hands in his. “Belladonna. Listen to me.” Her eyes drifted up to his face, filled with pure and utter sorrow. “You are not responsible for this.”

She shook her head and pulled her hands away from his. “You have no idea.” Without another word, and before he could get a word out himself, she slipped off the table and turned her back to him. She dug in her robes for a moment before pulling out her last giant lyrium vial and downing it. Before he could ask what she was doing, her staff was in her hand and she was casting a spell. The table lifted off the ground, and she followed it outside, leaving him in her wake. He watched her go for a moment before gathering his things and pushing the wheelbarrow after her.

They made good time getting back, much to Fenris’s obvious relief. He had taken Carver’s bedroll and covered his body with it, though Hawke seemed not to notice. The table she was magicking over hit the ground hard, and she doubled over, catching her breath. Fenris watched her then quirked his brow at Varric who just shrugged in response. “Hawke?”

She ignored them and took the wheelbarrow from Varric. They just watched as she built the wood up underneath the table, and realization dawned on them. A funeral pyre. Fenris walked over and gently halted her movements. “Hawke. Allow me.” She seemed surprised, but relented, offering him a weak smile.

She walked over to their stuff and started digging before pulling out a canteen and one of her tunics. Varric watched as she ripped a strip from the tunic and poured water on it, but she froze as she turned, facing Carver’s body. The fabric passed between her hands a few times, but neither her eyes nor her legs would budge. “Hawke.” Varric set his stuff down and walked over to her, holding his hand out. “Allow me.” Her eyes flicked to his, tears on the verge of spilling out before she nodded and passed him the cloth.

It wasn’t long before Carver’s body was cleaned up, and Fenris helped Varric carry it onto the table. Hawke watched, unblinking, the look on her face absolute, indescribable pain. The two men came and stood on either side of her, and Varric folded his hands in front of himself. “Do… you wanna say a few words?”

Hawke paused for a minute before she nodded. “I… Yeah. Yeah.” She took a trembling breath and stiffened, as though bracing herself. “Carver was… a tit. The… the thorn in my side. Hardheaded and stupid and just…” Her voice cracked, and she took another moment to steady herself, hiding her face amongst her burgundy curls. “But he was my brother. My baby brother. My responsibility.” Her fists clenched at her side. “H… I’ll… I’ll miss the shi… Him. I’ll miss him. But… Maybe he’s… maybe he’s with Bethany and Father and…” She couldn’t get the final word out, a choking sob breaking off her words. Varric reached for her arm but she flinched away, and no small part of his feelings were hurt by the action. Instead, she pushed forward toward the pyre and pulled two sovreigns from her pocket, placing them on Carver’s eyes. Varric and Fenris watched as she leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead and whisper something in his ear before she stood back. With a wave of her hand, fire sparked in the wood below the table, and Hawke watched as the flames ate their way up to her brother.

They stood in silence for another few minutes before Hawke abruptly turned and began gathering their things. Fenris gave Varric a concerned look before they moved to help, either man taking the majority of the items so Hawke did not have to. By the time they were all loaded up, Hawke was left with just two packs, her staff, and Carver’s maul which she had taken with an almost reverential amount of gentility.

“Let’s get out of this accursed hell.” She held herself strong as she lead the way, though the way she clenched her fist by her side did not escape Varric’s notice.


	5. Chapter 5: No Good at Writing Romances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra asks about the origins of Varric and Belladonna's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: The tense changed to present tense is meant to feel like Belladonna telling the story is different from Varric. I tried. I really did. 
> 
> Also. This shit is 19,000 words. It's literally one page more than half the story so far. Holy hell. I need sleep. And coffee. And psychiatric assistance. 
> 
> And, Alena is my Timeline 1 Inquisitor. She is the star of my Cullenmance story "Faded to Be Together" which I'm also working on in tandem with this one, so if you're interested please go check it out. I only have 2 chapters published, but I'm working on the 3rd and have QUITE A BIT of future chapters written out already.

Cassandra sat quietly for a long moment. Varric hadn’t looked at her as he recounted the story, choosing instead to look into the fire, but he knew she’d cried, if just a little. She no longer had any anger to spurn her on, to distract her from the tales he was telling, and Hawke was no longer just a phantom to be chased. She was real, tangible, a person, no longer just a heroic figure in one of Varric’s books to her. After a long while, she took a deep breath and a sip of wine. “So, who was he?”

Varric seemed jarred out of his reverie and looked at her. “Who?”

“That man they spoke of. Garrett. Who was he?”

“My brother.”

Varric leapt to his feet and spun around to face her, eyes wide like a child caught stealing a cookie. “B-Bells, I—”

She held her hand up to him and shook her head. “It’s alright.” She gave him a weak smile that shot guilt through his body, but she moved to sit next to Cassandra. “I figured you’d have told her about the Roads while you had the chance.” She leaned in close to Cassandra to reach past her for the wine bottle, making direct eye contact with her, almost like a power display. Cassandra said nothing but did not shrink back, either. Varric uneasily sat back down, a wretched expression across his face. Finally, after a long moment, she cleared her throat and sat back. “I’m glad. I didn’t want to listen to it again.” She gave him a gentle smile and sipped her wine.

Varric passed her his plate of untouched food, and when her hand brushed his, he smiled slightly back at her.

“I thought Carver was your brother.”

Hawke’s hand paused over the bunch of grapes she was about to grab. Varric bit his cheek, trying to read the expression on her face but found it impossible. It took a long moment for her to continue picking them up. “Shocking as it may be, Miss Pentaghast, people are allowed to have more than one brother.”

Cassandra blinked, realizing what she said. “I—, that’s not—”

“Relax.” She cast Cassandra a sideways glance before popping a grape in her mouth. “Garrett is one story not even Varric knows.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows raised as she looked at Varric with incredulity. “I find that hard to believe.” At Varric’s serious expression and the slight shake of his head, the teasing smile fell off her face.

“Varric.” All eyes at the table looked up, Cassandra jumping to her feet. The Inquisitor was standing there, a broad smile upon her face. She nodded towards the two women, a section of her snowy hair falling in her silvery eyes. “Good afternoon, Cassandra, Hawke.” Turning back to Varric, she put her hand on his shoulder. “Varric, I know this is inopportune what with Hawke being here and all, but I thought you might like to accompany me. We’ll be setting out soon for the Coast, you see, and I know you had wanted to look into those mines in the northeast for red lyrium. Are you interested?”

Varric looked pained at the idea, immediately turning to look at Hawke. She gave him a smile and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.” He held her gaze for a moment before nodding to Alena who practically beamed.

Cassandra cleared her throat, Alena’s kind smile turning to her. “Inquisitor, shall I accompany you?”

Alena’s smile turned bittersweet as she shook her head. “No. Thank you, Cassandra, but Blackwall is coming just in case we come across anything concerning the Wardens. Then Solas, of course.” Hawke resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the elf cast a disgustingly doe-eyed, girlish smile towards the rotunda beside their table. “Besides, Cullen has mentioned needing some more muscle to train the men. You could have them whipped into shape in no time.”

Cassandra was obviously hurt but nodded reluctantly. “Yes, of course, Inquisitor.”

Thankfully, Hawke, whether sensing the tenseness of the situation or just possessing a natural sense of good timing, leaned forward to smile at the Inquisitor. “I didn’t get a chance to ask, Alena. How have you been?”

The Inquisitor smiled towards Hawke and nodded. “I’m quite well, thank you for asking.” She leaned over on her toes to peek into the rotunda and beamed. “Please, excuse me.” She was already walking away but spun to face them as she backed into the rotunda. “Hawke, we should catch up soon!”

Hawke just shook her head, an entertained smile on her face. Once she noticed she was out of wine, she reached across and took Varric’s goblet. “She’s cute.”

“She’d kick your ass if she heard you say that.” Varric smirked at her, putting his chin in his hand.

Hawke chuckled, popping another grape in her mouth. “Remember when we found her with the varterral?”

“Wait.” They looked at Cassandra, both of them sharing the same amused expression. “You knew the Inquisitor before the Conclave?”

“Varric didn’t tell you?” Her amused expression turned into a sly one as she rose to her feet. “Shame.”

Cassandra blinked, watching as Hawke sashayed around the table to stand behind the dwarf who was now wearing an intrigued look. “How do you mean?”

With a smirk, Hawke leaned down and whispered something in Varric’s ear. For a moment, Cassandra thought she saw a blush dusting the man’s cheeks before he cleared his throat and stood. “Some other time, Seeker.” They left her sitting there, stammering and exasperated.

Xxx

The following day, Cassandra was out in the lower yard with Commander Cullen, offering her services per the Inquisitor’s recommendation. They were two of the earliest risers in all of Skyhold, already washed and dressed by the time the sun began to peak over the horizon with the heralding dawn every morning. The two of them had taken advantage of their time alone and had been sparring with one another, one-on-one, nothing serious. Since there was currently nobody being treated down in the healer’s area, they’d taken their training down there, not wanting to disturb anybody in the keep or in the tavern. Cassandra knew Cullen appreciated the opportunity because he never really got the chance to actually spar with the men. Without her and Bull’s Chargers, he’d likely never get practice.

They’d paused to take a break, leaning against the staircase leading down from the castle. Cullen had removed his upper armor after a while, having grown too hot in this midsummer morning. Cassandra tried not to stare. It was nearly an hour past dawn now, and the castle was beginning to buzz with activity. Cullen’s soldiers should be reporting for training within the next half hour.

The clopping of hooves drew their attention towards the gate, the both of them perking up. Blackwall, perhaps the next earliest riser in the keep, was walking towards the gate with three horses and the Inquisitor’s Tirashan Swiftwind, Da’Vunin, in tow, all saddled and ready to go. Once he saw them, he raised a gloved hand in greeting then tied the mounts off on the fence nearest to them. “Seeker, Commander.”

Cassandra gave him a smile and nodded her head. “Good morning, Warden Blackwall.”

Cullen gestured towards the mounts. “I see you’re preparing to leave.”

Blackwall nodded in affirmation. “Her Grace asked us to be ready to leave no later than two hours since dawn.”

“I’m glad to see Solas isn’t the only one who listens to me.”

They looked up the stair, Blackwall’s and Cullen’s backs straightening immediately. The deep flush across Cullen’s face did not escape Cassandra’s notice as she turned to look at their Inquisitor. Frankly, she looked terrible. Her hair hung about her in an unbrushed, untamed mess, her clothes were disheveled, likely from being rushed to get ready, two heavy-looking bags hanging haphazardly on her slight shoulders. Beside her, Solas stood stoically, not an item out of place on his well-rested body, only one pack across his back. Solas was usually the one to get Alena out of bed in the morning as she had an unusual amount of difficulty rising on any occasion. He offered them all a slight nod in greeting.

Cullen cleared his throat, eyes flickering over to Solas then back to Alena. He moved to grab his tunic and threw it on with no small amount of difficulty. “Good morning, Inquisitor.”

The elf grumbled something unintelligible and took the last set of steps down to the ground. “’Good’ is debatable, Commander.”

Cullen chuckled, perhaps a little too earnestly, and moved to take her bags from her as she went to greet her swiftrunner. He walked with her and helped her secure her packs. Blackwall and Solas traded a look before they each went to claim their horses. Cassandra watched, an amused smile playing at her lips as she crossed her arms. She heard Varric’s familiar gate clomping down the stairs before Hawke cleared her throat and in a low, throaty voice called, “Ooh, good _morning_ , Commander.”

Cullen’s hands paused, his arms having raised high enough to show some skin on his back, and he flushed a full six shades deeper. Alena let out a giggle, her own cheeks darkening which Cassandra noticed made Solas’s eyes narrow. Varric let out a chuckle that told Cassandra just how tired he was. “Careful, Curly. I’ll won’t hesitate to fight you for this one.” He clapped his hand around Hawke’s waist as they traipsed down the stairs.

Cullen flushed darker and grumbled as he resumed his efforts to secure Alena’s packs. Hawke joined Cassandra by the stair, watching as Varric and his friends set about getting ready to leave. “Good morning, Seeker.”

Cassandra glanced at her and gave her a gentle smile. “Champion.”

They stood together in companionable silence, sharing a similar stance with their arms crossed and their hips cocked out. It didn’t take long for the away party to be ready to depart. Solas was the first to mount his horse, then Blackwall. Cullen helped Alena onto her swiftrunner, an unusually soft smile on his face which she was too tired to notice. It took Varric a moment to get on his horse, what with the height issue, but he managed to do it with grace. Alena shared a few words with Cullen as he guided her mount to the gates, Solas and Blackwall in tow, but Varric trotted his horse over to Cassandra and Hawke. “Seeker.” He puffed his chest out in a comical effort to look intimidating. “Take care of her while I’m gone. She’s trouble, this one.”

Hawke gasped dramatically, a hand going to her chest. “Me? Trouble?” They both chuckled before Hawke climbed up onto the makeshift table left sitting at the foot of the stairs. Cassandra looked away, a blush on her cheeks as Hawke pressed her forehead to Varric’s. “Come back safe, yeah?”

He smirked at her and kissed her cheek. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Cassandra frowned, realizing once again just how deeply the two felt about one another, and a pang of guilt for having ever separated them flooded through her body. Over by the gates, Alena, having spotted the interaction squealed and put a hand to her cheek. “Now that’s just adorable.”

Varric rolled his eyes but pulled his horse away to join them. Just before they slipped out of the gate, he cast her one final glance and winked.

Hawke turned to face Cassandra and sat down on the table, a broad grin stretched across her face. “So, what’re we doing today?”

Cassandra blinked. “Wha—”

“ _We_ ,” Cullen nearly growled as he appeared beside her, “are training today.”

Hawke’s grin turned devious. “Ooh, Cullen, a chance to see our dashing Commander show his strength? You spoil me.”

He flushed and stammered for a moment before sighing in exasperation and skulking away, grabbing his armor as he went. Cassandra couldn’t help but laugh at his embarrassment. She looked over at Hawke, and her face softened. “I had better…” She looked as if she were going to go but thought better of it. “You are welcome to join us, Champion.”

Hawke waved her hand and offered a small smile. “Nah. Cullen wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off me. You go ahead.”

The Seeker gave her a once over and pursed her lips. “If you change your mind, we will be in the training yard most of the day.” She left the Champion sitting upon the table with a serene look upon her face and went to join the Commander.

Xxx

The day was rigorous, nonstop drills, coaching, drills, assisting, drills. The soldiers were worn out by the time the sun had begun to set, and though Cullen would never admit it, Cassandra knew he was, too. It took some doing, but finally she managed to convince him to let everyone call it a night. She was surprised when she turned to enter the castle and found Hawke sat upon the ledge in the middle of the stair, leaned back on her hands and watching them with an amused smirk. The smell of sweat and leather was strong as she pulled her gloves from her hands and tucked them beneath her arms, the cool air in the courtyard greeting her mildly sore hands. She cast a glance towards the soldiers retiring to the tavern before she headed for the stairs, intrigued by Hawke’s presence.

The woman’s hair was pulled back in one long, thick braid that tickled the ground as she leaned, but she was paying it no mind. It buckled a little as she tilted her head back to look upon her. “You look quite a sight, Seeker,” she teased, the sides of her lips parted in an open-toothed smirk.

Cassandra grunted and gestured towards the braid. “Your hair is getting dirty.”

Hawke shrugged and looked up toward the sky, her crystal eyes drifting closed. “Hair can be washed. It’s only a bit of dirt, anyway.” A smile touched her lips, a chuckle that stopped just short of leaving her. “My brother and I used to wrestle in mud. I tell you, you’ve never seen an angrier mother than mine the day we knocked the clothesline down with us.”

Cassandra observed her for a long moment, taking in the small details in this warm evening light that she’d been unable to see in the dimly lit castle. Age was catching up to her, evident in the laugh lines that had set in about her mouth and in the crows’ feet that touched her eyes. Her armor had been set aside this night in favor of a grey gown that hugged her body like a glove, and Cassandra noted for the first time the same piercings in her ears as Varric wore, the center of one ear and the tip of the other. This would’ve made Cassandra smile if the Champion had not moved to scratch the side of her neck, and a thick golden ring upon her finger caught her attention. “That… That is the Tethras house signet,” she exclaimed, eyes widening slightly.

Hawke opened her eyes and admired the ring upon her hand with a soft smile. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

Cassandra snorted and sat beside the Champion, her legs dangling over the steep drop into the Surgeon’s area below. “I had no idea you meant so much to him,” she mused. And it was true. Before all this Inquisition mess, she’d never in a million years considered that the dwarf was protecting Hawke in such a way, that the reason for his secrecy and lies had been love. It had been nearly a week since Hawke had arrived, and Cassandra was still reeling. The fact that she wore this ring… “What, exactly, is between you two?”

She could feel Hawke sitting up, feel her wiggling to look upon her a little better, one leg hooked under the other. “Well, several dozen miles by now, I’m sure.”

Cassandra sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maker, give me strength. You _know_ what I mean.”

Hawke tittered quietly. “What are you asking, precisely?”

“I mean to ask, what is the nature of your relationship?”

“No, that’s not what you mean to ask.”

“Maker’s _breath,_ Champion, are you and Varric _married?!”_ She cast a bewildered look upon the Champion, frustrated as all get out.

Hawke chuckled and shook her head, turning her eyes to admire the ring once more. “Not yet.”

Cassandra frowned slightly at the softened tone in her voice. “Why not?”

Hawke’s smile disappeared from her face as she considered her response, spinning the ring upon her finger. “Well, for starters, the Chantry exploded.” Cassandra frowned. _Oh._ “And then _someone_ took him away from me.” _Oh…_ Hawke shrugged and looked back up at the sky. “Once all this is over, I expect we’ll do it then.”

“Champion, I—”

“Belladonna.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name, Cassandra, is Belladonna.” A scowl set into her face, distorting her beauty a bit. “Champions do not allow their best friend to blow up half a city and bring turmoil to the world and then allow them to walk free. Champions especially do not help them do it, whether knowingly or not.”

Cassandra turned to regard her. A weight had settled over her shoulders and a shadow over her eyes which she had pointed to the ground. Around them, she could feel the pinpricking of the Veil, resonating with the anger and pain Hawke must have been feeling. Cassandra nodded after a moment. “Belladonna, then. I am sorry. For all of it. Especially that I apparently disrupted your wedding plans.” She tried to make her voice come out teasing, but it did not quite hit its mark. 

The Veil lightened slightly as the weight lifted from Hawke’s shoulders. “If there’s one thing I understand, it’s duty, Cassandra. I won’t say I’m not frustrated you had to take Varric away from me, but I know why it was necessary.”

Cassandra smiled slightly, though much like her attempt to lighten the mood, it did not reach her eyes. In truth, she _did_ feel quite terribly about the whole ordeal. Knowing she was forgiven helped a bit, but not enough. She regarded Hawke once more, Cole’s words ringing in her mind. ‘ _Her hands touch his and it feels like the sun, warm and welcoming and wondrous.’_ She looked down at Hawke’s hands, now folded loosely in her lap, and it’s easy to call them a warrior’s hands. Years of wielding staves and years of hardships have dried them out and turned them calloused, the beginning of knobs in her knuckles already, but they remain delicate, strong, and gentle, much like the rest of her. It would not be difficult for her to imagine them as belonging to a lover. She followed them up to her strong arms, built up from years of fighting, then up to her face, across the one singular scar that cuts through her thick lips. Those same lips turned into a smirk, and a blush burst across Cassandra’s cheeks, urging her to look away.

“My dear Lady Pentaghast, I do believe you’re ogling me. Whatever will my betrothed think?” she teased.

Cassandra cleared her throat and stood abruptly. “Something snide and vulgar, I am sure,” she grumbled. Hawke tilted her head back in a boisterous laugh that had her belly shaking, and the sound made Cassandra smile slightly. “Would you care to join me in some supper, Ch—Belladonna?”

The woman looked up at her and beamed, almost literally it seemed, before jumping to her feet. “I’d be delighted to, Cassandra.”

The next three weeks passed much like this. Cassandra assisted Cullen in training, as per the Inquisitor’s suggestion, and she and Hawke would dine together in the evening. Cassandra was surprised to find she eagerly awaited these dinners with Hawke. Though she was nowhere near the storyteller that Varric was, Cassandra enjoyed hearing her talk about her life. She told her about her life before Kirkwall, about growing up and moving around. Belladonna told her stories of her father, a most humorous and kind man who loved his family with a startling fierceness, stories of her mother though at times a rift existed between them, stories of her twin siblings and their frequent exploits and adventures. She spoke with a softness that sang of pain, and often her eyes would glaze over with sorrow as she recalled her life before. The fact that she never mentioned this mysterious Garrett did not escape Cassandra’s notice, but she knew better than to ask if even Varric did not know that story. And where Varric refused to answer her questions about their companions in Kirkwall with any semblance of truth, Belladonna was eager to supply her with the information she desperately sought. Yes, Aveline is every bit as intimidating as Varric makes her out to be. No, Sebastian’s armor is not shiny enough to use as a mirror. Yes, Fenris and Isabela hooked up, and as far as she knows, they remain in touch. (And no, Fenris did not leave those bodies to rot in the mansion.)

It became increasingly common as the days wore on for other members of the Inner Circle to join them for dinner, come to listen to Belladonna’s unique insights into the Tale of the Champion. Many of them seemed taken with the woman, particularly The Iron Bull who delighted in Hawke’s brand of humor. He’d asked her to recount her victory against The Arishok, found it to be an especially amusing recount. They both agreed that The Arishok did, indeed, have “a great rack,” and Hawke lamented that she’d had to kill him. “I didn’t think he and I were so different,” she’d said. Cassandra thought that strange at first, but the more she considered what she knew of Hawke, of the actions that she’d taken in Kirkwall, it made sense. Hawke saw things in a very black-and-white sort of way. Though she was without a doubt one of the sweetest women any of them had met in quite some time (the Inquisitor aside,) it was obvious that Hawke valued honor and courage above most things. She’d become a smuggler in the beginning because she would not murder those who had not directly wronged her or her family, even for coin;  she challenged the Arishok to the duel because she knew it was better to fight one-on-one than to risk the lives of so many others, and to allow him to take Isabela was far without the realm of possibilities;  she sided with the mages because, despite any semblance of truth behind their paranoia, the Templars had been abusing their power too long, and to help oppress the oppressed was to become worse than the oppressor. Even Ketojan, the Saarebas whom she’d been tasked to help escape, she had allowed him the most honorable path, the ability to face his death with all the pride and honors the Qun would allow. If the Arishok had only asked for anything else, reparations in the form of gold or ships, supplies, a permanent residence in the city, literally anything but to take a prisoner, let alone one of her best friends, Hawke would have let him live, might have even grown to consider him something of a friend. The only decision Hawke seemed to grapple with on any sort of level was the decision to allow Anders to walk away after what he’d done. Cassandra could not decide if she believed Hawke regretted letting him live, but the decision clearly sat precariously upon her shoulders.

They’d received word nearly a month to the day that the Inquisitor had concluded her business on the Storm Coast. The castle was once again abuzz to receive her, as it always was. The nobility who’d been unfortunate enough to arrive in her absence were renewed in their eagerness;  the soldiers trained harder, ready to impress their leader;  their friends were excited to hear all about this latest excursion. Cassandra did notice Hawke’s subdued reaction upon hearing the news and thought it strange. It wasn’t until two nights later during their dinner when she finally caved. “You do not seem excited to hear that the Inquisitor and her party are returning.” _That Varric is returning._

Hawke looked up from her potatoes and smiled slightly. “On the contrary. I’m ecstatic. Every moment away from him,” _Ah. It seems I am not as subtle as I’d like._ “is an eternity. But it’s no use sitting around getting all worked up. It leaves me with precious little energy with which to _receive_ him.” Her smile turned into a lewd smirk which made Cassandra blush. Hawke chuckled at her shyness and leaned back in Varric’s chair. After a moment, the smile eased from her face, and she looked up at Cassandra with an almost startling depth of seriousness. “Cassandra?”

“Mm?” mumbled the Seeker around a mouthful of food.

Hawke chewed on her lip for a moment as she thought of how to word her question. “I am… aware of how good Alena is in a fight. And, of course, I know Varric. But I don’t know… I don’t know if I fully trust all of your companions, neither their mettle nor their intensions. What is your estimation of them?”

Cassandra blinked. “I…” She patted her mouth with a napkin and straightened up in her seat. With a cursory glance about the hall, she deemed it safe enough to speak here, not that she particularly cared if she was overheard. “Most of them are good, I believe. They’ve all got their strengths and weaknesses, but the Inquisitor trusts them all. The only ones I can’t figure out are Cole—which is because he’s… well, he’s _Cole_ —and then there’s Solas.”

“Yes, he’s the, uh, bald one, lives just in there, right?” She cast a hand towards the rotunda Solas frequents. Cassandra confirmed it with a nod. “I’ve gathered he and Alena are… _intimate_.”

A blush dusted Cassandra’s cheeks, but she again nodded. “Yes. Though, he is hesitant about it, and none of us quite know why. In truth, I believe he is hiding something. He knows far more than he will let on.”

Hawke folded her fingers together and pressed her index fingers to her lips as she rolled over this information in her head. It fit with what she had been thinking. Varric had mentioned something similar in one of his earlier letters, but for the most part had seemed to write off his concerns in favor of bigger issues. It didn’t settle well in her gut, this knowledge. Cassandra had proven herself to be trustworthy and amicable in the time Hawke had spent here, despite the way she had handled Hawke’s arrival. Given time, the word “friend” could even be thrown around between the two of them. She trusted her word. If she had yet to get past Solas’s secrecy, Hawke had no choice but to be suspicious, and that worried her. The thought of not being able to protect her love out there in the world facing demons and bandits and Maker only knows what else, to have to leave him in the hands of someone who likely had an ulterior motive to his actions ( _again_ , she thought hotly ,) it killed her.

“Perhaps I should not have told you,” Cassandra mused bitterly.

“No.” Hawke shook her head and gave the Seeker a weak smile. “No, I’m glad you told me. Varric doesn’t always tell me the whole truth sometimes, tries to keep me from worrying. I appreciate your honesty.”

It was Cassandra’s turn to observe her, now. Her piercing eyes flitted about her face, took in her ruminating and vexed posture, noted the whiteness of the knuckles on her clenched fist, and she sighed. “I did not mean to worry you, Belladonna.”

Hawke shook her head and gave her a gentle smile. “No, no. It’s just…” She sighed and rubbed her tired face. “In the span of 9 years, I can count on one hand the number of quests I went on without Varric. I don’t like to think of him out _there_ , out where I can’t protect him if he needs it. He’s not just the other half of my heart, he’s my other hand, and I’m his.”

Cassandra blinked at that and could not help but smile. “That’s a rather romantic sentiment.”

Hawke chuckled, a slight redness dusting her cheeks. “Yes, well.” With a clearing of her throat, she straightened a little in her seat. “I know you lot have been out here fighting for months now. I know realistically that I shouldn’t worry. But still. It’s…difficult to trust others to have his back. Back in Kirkwall, we didn’t even have to talk. From the very beginning, we just… _worked_.”

“To hear Varric tell it, the same can be said for more than your fighting skills.”

“No, I don’t suppose I hid my infatuation very well.” She laughed, and it carried a ways through the hall. “Honestly, Cassandra, he had me since day one. When he spun that arrow and stuck it in his quiver. _Oo._ ” She shook herself dramatically as if chills had passed through her anew.

Cassandra’s interest was piqued. Eagerly, she leaned forward, voice lowered for privacy. “When exactly did the two of you…?”

Hawke smirked and raised a brow at her. “When did we…?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes and leaned even closer. Her voice was little more than a hiss, difficult to hear over the crackle of the fireplace. “ _Get together._ ”

“Maker’s breath, Seeker, are you asking about our first kiss or our first fuck? You’re so difficult to read.”

Hawke’s voice was loud and carried far throughout the hall. For a moment, conversation lulled, and Cassandra’s soul felt as though it would escape its vessel. Thankfully, nobody seemed interested enough to focus on them for too long. Once Cassandra felt that it was safe to speak again, though Hawke’s shit-eating grin did not lessen, she hissed, “Your first kiss, you complete and utter ass.”

“Ohohoh. Cassandra, I’ve never heard you swear before!” Hawke chuckled but relented. “Very well. It was early in the year my mother died. We had an argument and in the heat of the moment I just kinda grabbed him and laid one on him.”

“Oh, come now, Bells. 13 years together and that’s the best you can do?”

Hawke grinned from ear to ear, jumped to her feet, and practically leapt into the dwarf’s waiting arms. Cassandra watched with almost adoration as Hawke planted kiss after kiss on Varric’s laughing face, but she stood and bowed her head as the Inquisitor and Solas slipped out from around him. “Inquisitor,” she greeted. “We were not expecting you back so soon.”

Alena said a soft, “bye,” to Solas who set off for his rotunda, then she turned a bright smile to Cassandra. “It seems our raven was confused about where to go. Or something. I’m not really sure what happened.” She giggled and brushed her hair behind her ear. “We left the Coast about a week ago, and thankfully the roads and the weather favored us.”

“Mm, yes, thankfully,” mumbled Hawke, who had buried her face in Varric’s neck.

Alena rolled her eyes at her friends’ pda but turned her smile back to Cassandra. “I’m in desperate need of a bath and a good night’s sleep. We’ll speak tomorrow, yes?”

Cassandra patted her friend’s shoulder and nodded. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

Rather successfully avoiding anymore interactions, Alena slipped away and disappeared towards her chambers. When Cassandra turned her attention back to the love birds, she was relieved to find they had toned it down. Varric had settled into his chair and was digging through his bag while Hawke sat beside him, eyeing him with an almost nauseating amount of love. “I know it’s in here somewhere…” he grumbled. “Ah. Yeah. Here.”

Hawke let out a shrieking laugh as she held up what he’d given her, and Cassandra once more blushed. It was a garment made of chainmail, however once Hawke pressed it to her chest, it was evident that not only would it not provide any protection in an attack, it would not provide any protection from prying eyes. “This may be the greatest gift you’ve ever given me, my love.” Hawke laughed again as she put the chainmail on the table and slipped her hand into Varric’s.

The dwarf smiled adoringly at the woman. “Only the best for you, Hawke.” He brought her knuckles to his lips and brushed a kiss across them. Once he noticed Cassandra watching, he rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Right, right. Where did we leave off?”

“I… Well, the return after the Deep Roads, but Hawke was just telling me—”

“Seeker,” Varric chastised. “You know stories shouldn’t just jump around like that. There’s an artform to be respected.”

Hawke snorted and looked pointedly at him. “And what exactly happened of note in the three years between the Deep Roads and our first kiss?”

Varric put his hand to his chest and gaped at her in mock offense. “Hawke, you wound me! Can you say nothing of our many daring and dastardly deeds? The struggle to reinstate your family’s nobility? The many, _many_ flirtations we shared over drinks at the Hanged Man?”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Frankly, no, but I know you do.” With a bemused smile, she took a drink of her ale and gestured for him to proceed, to which he bowed his head in thanks.

XXXXXX Late in Year 2 XXXXXX

With the Deep Roads expedition more or less a success, business was booming. Literally at times. Hawke and Co. had made names for themselves, even beyond what Hawke had accomplished as a smuggler. Letters were piled upon her desk, notes of adoration and affection, letters expressing regret over the loss of Carver, missives and pleas from people seeking aid. The rift between Leandra and her had been deepened, to the point that it was not uncommon for days to pass without one speaking to the other, nor for heated arguments to turn into shouting matches and Leandra’s penchant to burst into sobs. Leandra said she understood that it wasn’t Hawke’s fault that Carver had died, but her inability to look upon her eldest and only remaining child did not pass unnoticed by anyone. Gamlen was no help, either, treating Hawke just as coldly as ever. The coin they made from the expedition went fast, but it went to good causes. Hawke donated 100 sovereigns to Lirene’s to help fellow Ferelden refugees, and more than half her loot was forced to go towards the restoration of her estate and title, though the Seneschal was hesitant to approve the change. Overall, it took more than a year for the Amell estate to be revived, during which time Hawke spent more time at the Hanged Man than she did at her own home. Not that Varric was complaining. She was more than welcome at his table whenever she wanted, and on a handful of occasions, she had even shared his bed (platonically, of course.) Their work kept them more than busy enough to avoid speaking of any unpleasantness, though, and for that both Varric and Belladonna were thankful. They rarely spoke of the Deep Roads to one another, but Varric would occasionally gave an exaggerated accounting to any eager drunkards wanting to hear the tale again. He never mentioned Carver’s demise.

What they did speak of was everything else: their work, favorite jobs thus far, gossip about residents of Kirkwall, stories of their past (many of them sordid,) even some more intimate things if enough alcohol was involved. (One such evening, Isabela had joined them at Varric’s table, and after _several_ tanks of ale had teasingly mentioned that she believed Hawke “enjoyed taking it lying down and eye-to-eye, rather like a housewife,” to which Hawke had scoffed and said, “no, I prefer it from behind, bent over a table with a fist in my hair,” and Varric had spewed his ale in surprise. Isabela was banned from their dinners for several weeks.)

XXXXXX Present Day XXXXXX

“Really, Varric? Is that entirely necessary?”

The dwarf beamed at his betrothed with a toothy grin. “I did promise the Seeker the whole truth this time, Bells.”

Belladonna scoffed and rolled her eyes, though Cassandra could see the blush darkening her cheeks. Varric was still chuckling as he continued.

XXXXXX Back to the Story XXXXXX

The flirtation between Hawke and Varric had toned down in the time since the Deep Roads, but to say the chemistry was no longer there would be a most hideous and unforgivable lie. There was more than their fair share of offhanded remarks that left the other either blushing or wondering if they should be blushing, and a few awkward shoulder bumps and/or hand brushings, though neither of them commented on it or called the other out. Whatever this was between them, it was not unwanted, but it was not entirely ready to be explored, either.

Three months after Hawke moved into her mansion, Varric received word of a potential mission upon the Coast and decided to set off towards Hightown to tell her about it, the sun shining warmly overhead. He was about to walk past the Merchant’s Guild when he heard it, that sultry voice he’d know from miles away, confident and self-assured, and his steps faltered. _No, it can’t be…_ It carried over to him clear as if she were standing beside him. _It… It is._ He’d not seen her since before her wedding, which he’d purposefully not attended. Seeing her here and now would be… Well, what would it be? Could he push past his pain? Greet her with a smile? Ask her why she was there as if nothing were wrong? Or was the lump in his throat and the ball of roiling ice in his gut too much to push past? They hadn’t fallen out of touch, but it was easy to picture her as he had known her, young and vibrant and with a ring-less finger even if she spoke of her husband in her letters. Could he return to that image if he saw her now?

He thought of leaving, of just continuing to his destination and putting this close encounter out of his mind, but his curiosity got the better of him. He had to see her. If he were to leave without at least seeing she was in good health, he’d never forgive himself. In true roguish fashion, he slipped into the shadows, careful to do so out of anybody’s notice. It had been three years before the Blight that Varric had last seen her, since they’d shared their final night together before she allowed herself to be taken from him. _No, that’s wrong,_ he chastised himself. She had never been his, not really. His heart had belonged to her like he’d never allowed it to belong to anyone before or since, but hers had always been too free to be tethered to him. He had admired that about her, way back when, and still did though he often cursed himself for letting go.

It was not difficult to spot her. She was a tad on the short side for a dwarven woman of her age, and she wore a hood as she normally did, but she stood in such a way that she exuded confidence and attitude. A noble woman without nobility, a merchant who takes pride in her work, a genius among fools. She was standing so that he could see her face among the shadows of her cowl, and their nights together resurfaced in his mind. The long button nose, the sharp cupid’s bow above her thicker upper lip, the sharp cheekbones beneath soft eyes. It was her. She was here. Older now than he remembered, with the beginnings of age about her face, a few wrinkles here and there, but it was her. _Bianca._

The words spilling from her lips fell on his deaf ears, the sound of his heart pounding too loud to push past. For the smallest of moments, Varric considered stepping forth, exposing himself, rushing to greet her with open arms and to hold her again, breathe in her uniquely smithy scent. And he might’ve, might’ve done just that had a man walked up beside her. He was tall for a dwarf, but his height did little for him because he stood sloppily. Next to Bianca, he practically shrank, overshadowed by her charisma, but she greeted him with a warm smile. Varric watched with a breaking heart as the man leaned in to place his bearded lips upon her cheek, as the two of them said goodbye to the merchant with whom Bianca had been speaking, and as they turned hand-in-hand to leave. Time seemed to pass by tauntingly slow as the two of them made their way from the square, and it seemed to snap back once they left. Varric stood there for ages, replaying the look on her face as she greeted that man again and again, and he remembered the way she used to look at him like that.

It was nighttime by the time Varric’s fist found Hawke’s door. He’d considered leaving when it took longer than usual for Bodahn to greet him, but the idea of returning alone to the Hanged Man bit at him sharply. No. He didn’t want to be alone.

The warm light from her foyer spilled out over him and washed him in a soft glow as the door was opened. His eyes refused to fixate on anything, so he opened his mouth to address her manservant when a bewildered, “Varric?” met his ears. It took a moment for the bare feet to register, pale and definitely belonging to a woman, and his eyes traveled up the soft skin to the hem of a light blue nightgown stopped at the knees, then up, up, up, into wide, concerned, breathtaking crystal eyes. “Varric, what is it? What’s wrong?” Hawke stretched out and cast her eyes about the square, one of her creamy hands going to his shoulder to usher him inside. It felt nice against his shoulder, the weight of it grounding him for the first time in hours.

“I…” What could he say? _‘I saw my ex-girlfriend with her husband and now I’m pouting like a teenager?’_ No. That was too embarrassing. He wouldn’t burden her with that if he could help it. “I just… Uh...”

Hawke was looking him up and down, scanning every inch of him for something, perhaps signs of a battle or injury. The hand on his shoulder moved to his forehead, feeling for a temperature. “Varric, you’re warm. Are you ill?”

 _Yes. That’s it. I’m ill. I’ve come for healing. That works, right?_ “Mm,” he mumbled lamely.

Hawke nodded, but he could tell she was still unconvinced. “Well, alright. Come into the library, and I’ll have a look at you.”

“Belladonna? Who is it?” Leandra approached the railing, pulling a robe about her shoulders. At the sight of Varric, a concerned expression filled her face. “Oh, hello, Varric. Is something wrong?”

“He’s just a little under the weather, Mother. We’re going into the library. Please, go back to bed.”

Leandra nodded and turned to go, but stopped to add, “There’s some elfroot tea left in the pot in the kitchen.”

Hawke waved her off and lead Varric into the library. The smell of the books was one he enjoyed deeply, though tonight it wasn’t enough as he sank into the couch. Hawke disappeared for a moment only to return with a kettle and a mug, and she knelt in front of him, tea set aside. Her hands were soft and warm around his as she drew them towards her, and her eyes drifted shut while her magic thrummed strangely up his arms, an almost probing sensation as if searching him. _This is pathetic, Tetrhas. Lying to Hawke. She’s your best friend. She won’t judge you._ “I…”

Her eyes opened slowly, but her hands did not leave his, and the magic turned pleasant, soothing and loving. “What’s up, Varric?” she repeated, voice soft in a tender whisper.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, and his shoulders slumped. “I saw…” Her name felt forbidden upon his lips despite the same name secured to his back. Speaking of her felt like an invasion, a betrayal, but at the inviting and sympathetic expression held in Hawke’s eyes, he could not deny her the truth. “I saw Bianca. With her… With her husband.”

“Oh, Varric.” In one fluid movement, she pushed up from the floor and pushed into his arms to hold him tightly to her. The tears came, then, the comfort of her embrace breaking the dam he’d put up. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into the top of his head, her lips pressed against his hair. The way he clutched her, pulled her tighter against him, she was forced into his lap but she made no protestations. Rather, her hand moved to his hair, and her fingers stroked through the strands delicately, soothingly. Part of him was still vaguely aware of the magic in her fingertips working its way through his body, warming him, urging him to calm, but he paid it no mind. Her skin still smelled of her lavender soap from her bath, her hair of blueberries, and she of home, and he breathed her in deeply. It hadn’t occurred to him until then just how strongly he associated this smell with pleasant feelings, that he’d come to miss it on nights she spent at home, and as he cried, it was just as soothing as her magic.

Her shoulder was practically soaked by the time he settled. He thought to apologize, but for the first time in his life, he found he had no desire to speak. Hawke did not move until he did, her fingers still working through his hair, her legs still settled around his, and if this were any other night, he’d be positively delighted at their current situation. As it was, such thoughts were tucked away in a locked box in his mind, and he held her for a while longer. A small part of him wondered if she was always this warm or if she were intentionally heating her body for him, but it was too nice to question. And in that moment, sitting there in this room that smelled of books and fire, Hawke sat in his lap, her existence filling his senses, he felt at home for the first time in ages. Unfortunately, this moment could not last, and as his grip about her waist slackened, she took that as her cue to slip from his lap and into the open spot in the sofa beside him. Where her hands had been upon him ached at the loss of her warmth, but he could still feel the strangely foreign and comforting sensation of her magic emanating into him from where she sat. Varric turned towards her, his arm against the back of the couch to look at her. He focused upon her features to keep his mind from wandering, studied the curls of her hair and the way the ends came together to form soft ringlets, counted the freckles upon her exposed upper chest (17,) followed the length of her arms and watched her delicate hands pouring tea into a teacup. Her mouth nearly touched the rim as she brought it to her lips, and enraptured Varric watched as those lips parted. Where her breath blew across the surface of the tea, a steady stream of light steam arose, and when the teacup was placed in his own hands, he was surprised to find it warm despite how long it had been sitting. It was no ale, and for that he was thankful. It was bitter and sweet and strong, rather like Hawke was, and its fragrance alone was enough to help him begin to feel better, feel refreshed.

Her hand found its way to the side of her head, and she leaned against the back of the couch while tucking her leg underneath her. Her hair fell in rivers around the arm, and she let out a soft yawn which she covered with the back of her other hand. “Oh, excuse me,” she said.

Varric moved to set the teacup down and frowned. “I’m sorry, Bells. It’s late. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

The hand that had been in his hair shot out and grabbed his bicep, urging him to pause and turn back to her. “No, Varric, please. You’re always welcome here. Night or day.”

As he studied her face, he could find no hint of a lie or any sort of hidden conditions in her words, just pure and utter honesty. A warm sense of relief and belonging filled him from head to toe. The hand fell from his arm as he continued to put the teacup down anyways, but she could not hide the soft smile as she realized he was resituating himself upon the couch to get comfortable. They looked at each other for a long time, unsure of what to say now that the emotions had passed, and it was only then that Varric remembered why he had been on his way to Hightown in the first place. “Oh, I was coming to tell you…”

The information flowed freely from his lips, and she listened in earnest, eyes glistening as she became excited. Hawke loved many things—her dog, her friends, herself—but above all, she loved the fight. And this one promised to be a big one, an entire contingent of soldiers hiding out in the sewers. The conversation moved easily from the job to their plans to reminiscing of earlier conquests, and all thought of Bianca flew from Varric’s mind in Hawke’s presence.

The hour was nearing dawn by the time they fell into a comfortable silence, sat side-by-side upon the couch with their feet up on an ottoman. Varric was lost in thought, observing the flames in the hearth as they dwindled when he felt her weight shift. His arm moved instinctively, lifting up and moving behind her shoulder as she scooted down, and he couldn’t help the blush that dusted his cheeks when her head found his shoulder. He held himself very still and realized she’d fallen asleep, most likely some time ago.

 _Should I leave? I… What in the name of Andraste’s ass should I do?_ Varric had never stayed over at Hawke’s before. What would Leandra think? The woman looked upon him kindly, spoke to him with more fondness than she spoke to Hawke these days which frankly still baffled him. (It _had_ been his fault the Hawkes were in the Deep Roads in the first place.) Would that change if she thought he were… _entangled_ with her daughter? Did he _care_ if that changed?

As he pondered the morality of his current situation, he was reminded once again at just how much taller she was than him. Though she was short for the average human, she still stood a good head taller than him. It was all legs, though. Her legs went on for _days_. Even though she’d turned in towards him and had both her knees bent a little, there was still a good foot and a half of length between her toes and his. He’d spent many evenings wondering at it, but this felt different. Perhaps it was because this was her space instead of his, that he felt a little like an intruder here under her roof, but it seemed new to him again just how strange this relationship was. He marveled at her toes which she painted an emerald green, wondered at how she could possibly reach them with legs as long as hers even if he’d witnessed it a handful of times before, and his eyes spanned across her impossibly smooth skin up to the hem of her robes that gathered at her knees. He swallowed hard and cast his eyes up to the ceiling, struggling to keep himself calm. _Don’t be a creep, Varric Tethras. Maker’s breath._

As he sat busily steeling himself, Hawke shifted again, this time snaking her arms around his waist and pressing her face closer to his neck. Her breath drifted against his flesh and drew goosebumps in its wake. Against his better instincts, he carefully adjusted himself so he was leaning against the arm of the couch, and Hawke moved with him, her head settling comfortably against his pectoral muscle. He held her gently, a hand moving to her hair to gently stroke the curls, and he observed her face for a time as he had so many nights before. Like everything else this evening, it felt as if he were seeing her for the first time, and he marveled at her. The distinct arch of her eyebrows, the way her lashes curled so delicately, the smooth slope of her proud nose, the soft way her thick lips laid slightly parted, every inch of her skin so soft-looking. Every bit of her was so different from Bianca, from the bouncy curls in her chestnut hair to her painted toes. Bianca was sharp, harsh angles and prickly words where Hawke was just… precious and soft, almost to the point she seemed fragile, as if she were made of glass. And as he lie there, looking upon her, admiring the way the dying flames flickered across her delicate skin, he couldn’t help but think of how nice it felt to be in her arms, to have her in his arms.

He fell asleep with a smile upon his face and a warmth sparking in his heart. He would awaken later that day, Hawke still tucked securely in his arms, and it would dawn on him that perhaps his feeling for her moved beyond whatever minor crush he thought this was.

XXXXXX Present Day XXXXXX

Belladonna had a soft smile upon her face as she observed her fiancé. Varric chuckled when he noticed her eyes on him and turned a charming smile towards her. “Was it something I said?”

Belladonna’s own smile widened as she placed her chin in her hand. “You’ve never mentioned that last bit before,” she said softly.

Varric raised a brow at her. “Oh? And when exactly did you think I fell, Bells?”

“You know me, my love,” she cooed. “I thought I had you wrapped around my finger from Day One.”

“Oh well, of course I was. But that was the night I started to realize.”

Belladonna’s smile turned almost dopey as she looked upon the dwarf, and Cassandra couldn’t help but blush, as if she were intruding on a private moment. When the moment failed to cease, she forced herself to clear her throat, and both sets of eyes turned on her. “If you two would like a moment, I would be more than pleased to leave,” she teased.

Belladonna rolled her eyes while Varric took a drink of his ale. She observed him a moment and sighed quietly. With a gentle hand upon his shoulder, she leaned in and lowered her voice. “You’re tired, Varric,” she stated. It hadn’t occurred to her in her excitement to see him again, but it was undeniable. He carried dark bags underneath his eyes, and his voice had been growing almost strained as he recited their story.

He waved his hand dismissively and smiled unconvincingly. “I’m fine.”

“No, she is right,” Cassandra said. “You should get some rest.”

Varric looked between the two women with an almost exasperated expression. “And uh, just when exactly did you start agreeing with each other?”

Hawke flashed him a toothy grin and reached across the table to clap her hand over Cassandra’s. “Oh, honey, you’ve missed out on so much!”

The blush was hard to tamp down from Cassandra’s cheeks, but she joined in the taunt. “Yes, Varric. _Belladonna_ and I have become quite close in your absence.”

“Why, you might even say we’re… _besties._ ” The last word came as a hiss and with a waggling of eyebrows.

Varric looked incredulously between them before pushing back from the table. “Maker’s great saggy balls. The world really _is_ ending.” With a sigh, he rose to his feet and put his hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Fine, fine. I’m going. Just… if you start braiding each other’s hair ‘n’ shit, warn me first, ‘kay?”

Hawke chuckled and swept his knuckles up to her lips. “I’ll be in before too long.”

Cassandra averted her eyes as Varric moved his hand to stroke her cheek tenderly just before he stepped away. Hawke looked after him with an almost dreamy expression upon her face, and Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “And what of you?”

Her question seemed to thrust Hawke out of her reverie because she started and looked over at her with wide eyes. “Pardon?”

“Well, Varric has disclosed when he first came to care for you. What of you for him?”

“Oh, I uh… I’m not much of a storyteller, Cassandra.”

The Seeker snorted. “Please. You’ve told me many stories these past few weeks. What is so different about this one?”

“Well, most of those were just… anecdotes, I guess.” At Cassandra’s insistent glower, she sighed and nodded. “Ok. Ok.” There was a long pause as she finished off Varric’s ale in one go, but she settled back into her chair soon enough. “So. I wasn’t lying when I said he had me from day one. Fastest crush I ever had. But I guess…” She looked up at the ceiling as if the words she were seeking might be imprinted upon them, her fingers tapping against the armrest of her chair. “I guess it was about a year after the Bianca incident that I knew it was more than that.”

XXXXXX About a Year After the Bianca Incident, Late in Year 3 XXXXXX

“Look, if I give away the ending, it’s not a good story, now is it? Fine, fine, I’ll give you a hint. It involves griffons. No, no. That’s all you get. Go on, off with you now.”

Belladonna side-steps the clambering rush of blond mass that darts past her, almost throwing her off balance. Shaking her head, she pushes her way into Varric’s room and dusts herself off dramatically. “Your urchins could do with a few lessons in manners, Vare.”

“Who, Dippit? Ah, he’s harmless.” A gloved hand gestures for her to sit down. “What can I do for you today, Bells?”

Belladonna smiles slightly at her nickname but puts her hand upon her hip. “Well, you can tell Corff to crack a new barrel for starters.”

“Uh-oh.” He leans forward in his seat and looks at her with compassionate eyes. “Come, tell your favorite dwarf all about it,” he says, patting the table near where she normally sits

A tankard is placed upon the table along with an entire jug filled with ale. She smiles in thanks at the serving girl who usually takes care of Varric and his friends. “Well, for starters, you don’t tip that woman enough, Varric,” Belladonna teases. Varric rolls his eyes but waits patiently for the real reason she’s there. It takes her a moment in which she downs nearly half the tankard in one go and gathers her thoughts. “It’s just the usual,” she starts. “Mother is… being Mother.”

“Oh boy, here we go. What’d she do this time?” Thankfully, he seems to know it’s time to get cozy because they’ll be here for a while. Varric settles back into his chair and kicks one of his feet up onto the table across from her.

“She just. I can’t. Augh!” She jumps to her feet and begins to pace, agitation rolling off her in waves (almost literally. She’s influencing the Fade around them; she can see the static beginning to build along his arms and raising his hair.) “She wants me to _marry_ someone, Varric! I mean.” She scoffs incredulously. “ _Me. **Married.**_ Can you _believe that_? And as if that weren’t bad enough, she’s out here looking for suitors _for_ me!” There’s a hard _slap_ as her open palm hits the far wall, her back turned to him. “There’s one she’s considering, and I’ve met the tosser before. Honestly, Varric, I’ve never met more detestable and disgusting a man in my life!” She turns back to him and puts her hands on the table, leaning with her head drooped down. “I told her I don’t want to marry, least of all with a man for whom I have no affections, but she won’t listen. ‘We’re nobility now, Donna,’ she said. ‘You’re the _only one left_ who can continue the line.’” She throws the last quote out with no small amount of venom, much like her mother had said it, a pointed blow meant to strike decisively against her. “As if I need reminding that I’m the only one left, that it’s _my_ fault Carver and Bethany and…” His name is at the tip of her tongue, always present on her mind, but she refuses to speak it anymore. She’d not said it since that night in the Deep Roads, not even to herself, not since she’d failed him completely and utterly by failing to keep her promise to protect her family. No longer does she deserve to say his name.

There is a piece of fabric slipped into her line of view, startling her out of her self-pity. She follows the hand holding it up to his kind and sympathetic face, and only when he squeezes her bicep with his other hand does she realize she’s crying. Silently, she accepts the handkerchief and turns her face from him to dab at her tears. “So, you don’t wanna marry. What’s the big deal? This is _your_ story, Bells. Your mother can’t dictate how it ends, no matter how hard she tries.” His voice comes earnestly, encouraging her to feel better.

Her voice is thick with tears as she chokes out a weak, “I wish that were true.”

The hand on her arm gently tugs on her sleeve, urging her to take a seat. With a quick glance at his gentle face, she nods and lets him guide her to sit back down. His chair squeals against the floor as he drags it closer to her, and he sits with his hand on her shoulder. “What d’you mean, Bells?”

“I just… What good would I be? A-As a daughter, I mean? If I were to disobey her now, after everything that’s happened?”

“You mean losing your family, don’t you?” He speaks cautiously, levelled and delicate as if to avoid hurting her further. His caution is wasted.

Pain flashes across her face as their smiles flicker quickly through her mind, one after another. “Yes. My family. I robbed my mother the chance to be proud of her children. What would it say about me if I… if I didn’t give her what she wants?” She wipes her eyes hard with the handkerchief he’d given her. “Carver wanted to marry. Wanted a gaggle of kids, he did. Bethany wanted to run her own farm.” _Garrett wanted to help mages escape the Circles._ “They all had such high dreams, and what do I have?” She scoffs at herself and shakes her head. “Blood stains and alcoholism,” she growls bitterly. As if to prove her point, her tankard finds its way to her lips and is promptly emptied.

Varric is quiet for a long time. She had begun to worry he was growing tired of the conversation, but with a heavy sigh, he grabs the jug of ale and tops her off. “What you _have_ , Bells,” he starts then sets the jug back down. He looks up at her with a kind smile that makes her heart flutter, “is a whole mess of friends who love you, an estate which you single-handedly restored _for_ your mother, more riches than all of Darktown combined, and the respect of three fourths of this entire city.” There is a mischievous twinkle in his eye as his smile melts into a toothy smirk. “And you got me, the handsomest dwarf to ever walk to surface.” He gestures towards his body as he says it, and she rakes her eyes over his body, over his broad chest to his thickly muscled arms, and she is reminded of how nice it feels to be wrapped in them. _I wish he’d hold me_. The thought snapps quickly in her mind, forcing her to tear her eyes from him. _I… What in the actual hell?_

“Bells?”

She shakes her head and looks down into her ale, thankful her weeping and the drink had already darkened her cheeks. With a sniffle, she runs her hand across her face and moves to stand. “I’m sorry, Varric. I… I shouldn’t have bothered y—”

A calloused hand shoots out to grab her arm as she turns for the door, and his kind and smiling face ducks into her line of sight. “Bells. Hey, I’m here.” With a gentle tug, he pulls her into his warm and inviting arms and squeezes her gently, his head laid against her bosom. “I’m always here for you.”

With the love in his embrace, the dam breaks once more, and Belladonna finds tears spilling in torrents down her cheeks. Her hands find their way to the back of his shirt which she grips with all her might, as if she were clinging to him for dear life, and she fights the urge to put her face in his hair and soil it with her sorrow. When Varric pulls away a few minutes later, Belladonna might have seen the shimmering of tears in his own eyes had she not taken that moment to wipe the tears from her face. “Let’s not talk about it, huh? Come on, let’s go find the Rivaini and swindle some poor drunkards out of their money in a game of cards, eh?” He looks up at her with a glint in his eye and a swaggering grin that draws a breathless and weepy giggle from her. “Ah, there’s my girl.” He beams at her smile. “Come on, Bells.” He waves her on as he turns on his heel and starts out the door, leaving her standing there trying to control the color in her cheeks.

Though the rest of the night passes in a pleasant blur filled with ale, friends, and laughter, but his words were never far from her mind. _‘My girl.’_ And though she did not know why, when she laid beside Varric that night, a soft smile painted her face as her eyes closed. _‘My girl.’_

Xxx

 _Demons plague her sleep that night, taunting her recent misfortunes. They come to her wearing the skins of men her mother might say suit her, all of them wealthy to be sure of their fine clothes made from pure silks, but all of them physically unappealing in some way and all of them the very opposite of the type of man she would consider for herself (should she consider a man at all.) One speaks harshly to her, whispers lewd and vividly obscene things into her ear and laughs at her discomfort before his eyes turn red and his grin turns devilish. Another is frightened by the smallest of mice and jumps upon a table shrieking shrilly for her to “save him.” The final sits in a plush couch reading some old and dusty book about some obscure bit of history, and when she suggests they go for a patrol he “harrumph”s her and settles deeper into the couch before declaring her adventures “too distasteful” and that she should “desist henceforth.” At the end of each of their appearances, when she finally tells them to shove off, they laugh at her. The first two disappear into smoke, but the third looks at her over the rim of his book as he chortles, his swollen belly jiggling with the effort. The book in his hand snaps shut and he stands, except that his height comes three times taller than it naturally should’ve been given his seated height. He looms over her and reaches forward with a spindly finger to stroke the rim of her chin. “One day, Mistress Hawke, this will be your fate.” His breath ghosts across her face like an icy cloud and smells of the sewer. “You feel it, too, don’t you? Your body beginning to grow old and tired, your magic beginning to drain away. Who will you be when you can no longer adventure? And then where will you be? Too decrepit to find a good husband, too unsociable to have any good friends. I mean, just look at yourself. Who would want to waste their time with_ this _?” With the final word, his spindly hand grips her shoulder and turns her sharply around. An elderly woman stands before her, familiar in many ways but a stranger overall. Her skin is greying and sagging at the edges; her hair hangs limp and grey about her shoulders and gives only the vaguest indication of ever having possessed curls; her body is soft with the pudginess of age. It isn’t until Belladonna looks into the face, notes the faded scar about the nose, looks into the shockingly piercing blue gaze that she realizes this is not just any woman. This is her. Standing in a mirror._

_The demon is at her ear, its icy breath rising goosebumps along her flesh as it_ **_ coos _ ** _, “Don’t you want to stay young and beautiful forever? To continue your life as an adventurer without reservation?” Though its face is not reflected in the mirror, she can feel the hand on her shoulder tightening, can almost sense its cruel smile. “We’d be more than happy to oblige, for a small fee of course…”_

_Panic wells within her, her breaths coming quickly and short as tears threaten to spill over. To tell it now, she would hesitate to admit that she nearly caved, nearly asked the demon what she must do to prevent such a fate. But as she opens her mouth to ask that forbidden question, a warmth forms at her side. She looks to find nothing there, but something wholly familiar about this warmth radiates up her body, its height and temperature tickling a memory at the edge of her periphery. Whatever is causing it, it gives her enough peace of mind and strength to reach up and grip the demon’s bony hand upon her shoulder and thrust it aside. “Twenty-seven years I have persisted against you and your lot. Do forgive me if my soul evades capture once more,” she purrs with a sweet smile._

_The despair demon gloweres at her before it sheds its skin away to float before her, wearing a darkened hood underneath which she can just barely make out the faintness of what might’ve been a drunken child’s attempt at drawing a face. It pulls its hands in toward itself and begins to turn away as it hisses, “You cannot escape us forever, Mistress Hawke.” And as it disappeares, the dream world it created for her melts into fog._

Xxx

The ceiling of Varric’s room is more than familiar enough for her to recognize it even in the darkness of early morning. She lies there for a moment, recollecting her dream, committing it to memory as she does every time a demon came to her. It isn’t until she feels the warmth beside her twitch, hears it grunt and sigh that she realized what the warmth had been in her dream: Varric, lying there by her side, his arm wrapped around hers, his forehead against her arm. She lets out a breathy chuckle and puts her hand over his and shuts her eyes once more. “My, my, Master Tethras, you continue to impress. You saved your girl yet again and you don’t even know it.”

XXXXX Present Day XXXXX

“You are… haunted by demons frequently, then?” Cassandra regarded her with a wary look, eyeing her up and down as if trying to ascertain Hawke’s strength to persist against temptation.

Belladonna sighed and rubbed her face. “No point in denying it, I suppose. Yes, I am visited often. At least once a week now, I’d say, with increasing frequency and intensity these past few years.” She looked haunted behind her crystalline eyes, as if recalling the nightly horrors that follow her. Vaguely she could see Cassandra tensing in her chair, could see the warring emotions behind the warrior’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Seeker,” she sighed. “I’m no blundering idiot. I know better than to trust a demon. Especially…” She swallowed hard, thoughts of Anders flashing through her mind. “Especially now.”

Cassandra regarded her a moment longer. “I… I believe you,” she relented. Though she did not relax any, she did wave her hand gently. “Please, continue.”

Belladonna leaned back in her chair and rested her hands against her stomach. “Hm. After that, we didn’t have any more particularly noteworthy moments for about two months. Obviously, my mother put the search for a suitor on the back burner, but I hadn’t quite put it out of my mind yet, and I guess I… acted out.”

“’Acted out?’” repeated Cassandra. “In what way?”

Belladonna cleared her throat and turned her head to hide a blush. “Well…”

XXXXXX Early in Year 4 XXXXXX

 “Hawke?”

There are so many limbs in so many places, it’s difficult to know where she begins and…whomever else ends.

A clearing of the throat and another, “Hawke,” this one firmer, a little louder. _No. Go away._ She’s so pleasantly warm and comfortable with just the right hint of soreness weighing her body down. _I’m taking the day off._

There’s a hand drifting up her back, a nose near her ear. “Mm, Honey Badger, you’ve got company, sweet thing.”

Belladonna nuzzles towards the softer voice, and her hips rock towards the thick, burly hand resting on top of them from her other side. “Mm.”

“Andraste’s ass, Hawke, get _up_!”

Her head snaps up with a sharp inhale, her eyes struggling to focus. The bliss is gone, replaced with a heaviness that tells her a hangover is imminent and her delicate soreness is far worse than she’d thought. She blinks blearily over Dernier’s shoulder and smacks her dry lips. “Oh. Hey, Var,” she mumbles. Her head drops back down, and she has to resist the urge to purr as Serendipity’s hand finds its way to her hair.

Varric clears his throat, and from the tone in his voice when he speaks, he’s angry, though why he would be angry she doesn’t know. “Would you like to get out of…whatever this is and, I don’t know, join us?”

Join them? Them who? She’s already joined someone. Well, four someones last night and just the two now. She stretches her body out and squirms until she’s turned towards him fully, a hand on Dernier’s shoulder to keep her steady as she leans up. “Huh?”

He shakes his head in disbelief and rubs his face. The firelight has begun to die, but she can see his displeasure and the way he averts his eyes from them with a darkening of his cheeks. Idly, she remembers she and her two bedmates are quite nude, but it’s too early and she’s too hungover to care. “Maker’s breath, Belladonna. We’re going to the Bone Pit, remember? Broody and Rivaini are downstairs already.” _Oh. Yes, that’s right._ He’s looking at her strangely. She can’t tell if it’s in anger or disappointment, but she has to frown at the pang it sets off within her. He shakes his head again and turns to leave. “Just. Get dressed. We’ll be outside.”

The door slams shut hard after him. Dernier grumbles and slaps a pillow over his face, but Serendipity snakes slender arms about her waist and shoulder. “Are you alright, Honey Badger?”

Her eyes are trained on the door, a secondary heaviness settling into her bones that has nothing to do with her hangover or the events of the previous night. “I…” She frowns at herself and subconsciously leans into the hand that Serendipity has brought to stroke her hair again. Varric never slams doors. He’s not happy with her, and for some reason that makes a large ball of ice begin to form in her gut. “He’s never been mad that I’ve been late before.”

Serendipity chuckles and places a kiss against her shoulder. “You’re such a sweet thing. That wasn’t anger I saw.”

Hawke blinks and turns to cast a confused look over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

She is met with a raised brow and a smirk. “Honey, your boyfriend’s jealous.”

A dark blush rises up along Hawke’s cheeks, and her eyes widen. “My…” _Boyfriend? Wha…_

Serendipity just chuckles at her fluster. “You’d better hurry along before he sends someone up to get you. Ooh, do you suppose it’ll be that pretty, stoic elf you run about with? He makes me quiver.”

Hawke rolls her eyes and crawls over Serendipity to slip out of bed. She smirks and let out a soft purr as their bits rub together in the process, but otherwise neither of them pays any mind. “I’ll be sure to tell Fenris he’s got an admirer.”

“Be sure to tell him that if it were up to me, I’d give him 50% off.”

Belladonna chuckles as she sets about getting dressed. She pauses at her door and casts a little finger-waggling wave at her attentive bedfellow. “My man Bodahn will set you up with food or anything you want. You’re welcome to stay a while, the both of you.”

Dernier lets out a grunt from under his pillow and grumbles something unintelligible. Belladonna raises a brow and looks at Serendipity for clarification. “Oh, he asked for more ale, Honey Badger.”

Belladonna chuckles and nods. “I’ll have it sent up.” Dernier gives her a thumbs up which makes her roll her eyes. She gives another wave to Serendipity before leaving. She pauses just long enough to tell Bodahn where she was going and to ask him to take care of her friends, a request which sends the proud man practically into a heart attack, but he obliges with grace as he always did. With a clap on his back and a large grin, she bids him goodbye before gathering her pack and staff and leaving.

Her companions are waiting on a bench outside like Varric said they’d be. Isabela roves her eyes over her body in a way that makes her almost self-conscious, but she meets her inquisitive stare with a grin and a hand on her cocked hip. “You should have a portrait painted, Isabela. It’ll last longer.”

Isabela smirks. “You look _well rested_. It’s a shame I missed the party.”

Belladonna flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Next time I’ll be sure to invite you.”

“Oh no, don’t mind me. You know what they say. Two’s company and all.”

Belladonna snorts and starts walking, adjusting her pack on her shoulder as she goes. “Yes, but what do they say about five?” She casts a sly grin back to her companion.

Isabela gasps dramatically and puts a hand to her chest. “My, my, you _have_ been a busy girl.”

Belladonna chuckles, but glances over at Varric who has fallen in step at her side. Something is eating at him; she can see it in the set of his jaw, in how he’s carrying himself a little straighter than usual, how his steps lack his trademarked swag. She raises a brow at him. “What’s up with you, Vare?” Serendipity’s words replay in her head. _“Your boyfriend’s jealous.”_ Could that really be it?  

His jaw clicks but his gaze does not move off their path. “Bad eggs at breakfast.” The fact that Varric never eats eggs let alone for breakfast does not escape her notice, neither does the way he refuses to look at her.  

She glances at him once more and nods. “Gotcha. Sorry to hear it.” He pushes a little ways ahead of her, and she doesn’t try to catch up. Isabela gives her a confused shrug which she returns before turning a lazy grin on Fenris. “Oh, Serendipity says hello.”

His back straightens and the tips of his ears darken a little. “Is that so?” he grumbles in his sardonic way.

“Mm. Great admirer of yours, actually. Said you could get half off,” she proclaims with a broad grin. His steps falter, and at the absolutely bewildered and flustered look on his face, Belladonna is lost in a fit of raucous laughter that has her clutching her stomach while she struggles to keep her own footing.

Varric leads them most of the way to the Pit, far too silent for any of their liking (though Fenris would say it was preferable if pressed.) Isabela and Belladonna spend most of the way chatting about this and that—gossip about the regular patrons at the tavern, plans for the booty they’ll get from this excursion, but as they draw nearer their destination, the discussion turns back toward the lewd. Fenris moves to the front of the party partly to get away from their tittering but also to take point as their tank, but the two men are still within earshot and Belladonna is unaware of the tension growing between Varric’s shoulders.

“What’s Dernier like, Hawke? I haven’t had the pleasure of his particular _services_ just yet,” purrs Isabela.

Belladonna just grins lazily and sighs. “Oof, _Bela_. He’s… He’s domineering and aggressive, y’know, like he’s in charge.”

“No, not that, you daft goose. What’s he _like_?”

“Ooohhh. Oh, Bela. You wouldn’t beli—”

“Maker’s hairy balls, I don’t want to hear about your blasted sexual conquests, Hawke!” 

Belladonna stops in her tracks, eyes widening as she turns her attention to the dwarf doubling down on her. “I…”

“All day with this shit, Bells! All day! Well I’m sick of it! I don’t want to hear another word about _any_ of it and neither does Fenris so if you would _please_ just shut—” He lets out a yell in surprise as an arrow splits its way between them, and Bianca is in his hands and taking aim before Belladonna can get her staff from her back.

She moves fast, shields thrown up around all of them before Fenris and Isabela have darted out of range. Isabela throws down a smoke cloud and slips into the shadows as Fenris distracts their enemies—some renegade band of misfits who must’ve been on their way to ransack the Pit for themselves—and she and Varric split apart to cover their companions.

The battle is surprisingly difficult. Several waves come, each one bringing an additional ten or so fierce warriors. Fenris and Isabela keep the brunt of the forces contained away from Varric and Belladonna, but they are beginning to tire and enemies slip through the cracks. Belladonna almost doesn’t notice in her flurry of spells sent down towards the melee fighters, but as she turns to gain momentum for a bit of oomf in her lightning ball, she sees the shimmering in the light, and her step falters, the spell she had working up dissipating immediately. “VARRIC WATCH OUT!” she screams, and throws the feeling of pure protection in his direction—

She blinks, gasping for breath, looks up into the eyes of the now uncloaked assassin who is staring at her with nothing but pure shock. It takes her a split second to realize that she is no longer where she was, but she is now across the battlefield where Varric had been, and this is indeed the same assassin she had seen approaching. He looks down between them and lets out a shaking gasp, and Belladonna follows his path of sight. The blade at the end of her staff rests buried to the hilt in his chest, and with a startled jolt of realization she yanks the blade from his body. As he falls to the ground in front of her, she feels something _tear_ through her, and she looks down to her own body. “Well. _Shit_.” The words are barely past her lips when she is falling to her own knees and clutches at the gaping wound the assassin has torn from her breast to her hip.

 _“BELLADONNA!_ ”

She hears Varric’s voice and it brings a smile to her lips. His lovely face comes into view, hovered over her but not looking at her face. He looks pained, like he’s injured himself, and that makes her frown. “Are you hurt?” she asks.

His eyes tear away from her wound to stare at her incredulously and he can’t help but let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Maker, Bells, you’re lying here split open and you’re worried about _me?”_

Though she can’t feel it, she knows she’s smirking. “Well, someone has to worry about my favorite dwarf.”

He shakes his head and pulls his pack from his shoulders to root around in it, the battle all but forgotten. With one hand, he presses a healing potion to her lips and with the other, he presses clean bandages to her side where her robes which he has ripped to open further. “Yeah well you and I are gonna have a good long talk about what _worry_ entails, Bells.”

As soon as the potion is empty, she makes a _pbbt_ sound in her mouth and gives him a lazy grin, about the same time the sky above him begins to swirl. “Wha’s a little worry betwixt friends?”

Varric says nothing, throws the bottle over his shoulder and uses both his hands to hold her together. What must be moments but really feels like hours later, Isabela’s and Fenris’s faces come into view, both of them showing some signs of worry. She watches as Varric looks up at them, studies the muscles in his jaw as he barks something she can’t hear at them, smiles when his amber eyes turn back to her. His lips move like he’s speaking, and it takes an unusually long amount of time for her to realize he’s saying her name. She hears an airy giggle, watches a pale hand reach up to touch his cheek.

There’s another bottle pressed to her lips, another health potion, and it is almost enough to distract her from the pain of something being poured onto her wounds. The world threatens to blacken, but Belladonna Hawke is one stubborn bitch and she refuses to pass out. Instead, the pain brings her back into herself a bit. She can hear Varric talking to Fenris who is assisting him just short of her line of sight. She can smell the metal of her blood, can taste the bitter elfroot in the potion left in the back of her throat. She coughs, can taste the blood now, knows a little bit has stained her teeth. “L…”

Varric is back at her face now, his hand cupping her cheek. “Bells?”

She swallows hard, tries again. “Lyr…”

“Lyrium?”

A grin of relief bursts across her face. “Mm.” Varric moves fast to dig through her satchel, rips the cork from the lyrium with his teeth and presses it to her lips. The sour liquid burns her throat, but already she can feel it working. It brings her further into the moment, and now she can feel the searing pain along her torso with biting clarity. Her hands move over Varric’s still holding her together, and with all the strength she just imbibed, she pours healing energy back into herself. It drains quicker than it works, but it’s enough to stop her bleeding and bring the seams of her flesh a little closer. Her vision begins to swim black with the effort, a headache forming already, but at the look on Varric’s face she knows it’s not quite enough. “Another,” she manages to choke.

Varric looks up at her, eyes scanning her face as his own mirrors her pain. “Bells…”

She is too weak to argue, but that must tell him enough. Another bottle is at her lips in moments, the sour liquid flooding her body with strength once more. Though the size of the bottle is the same, the effects of it are already lesser than the one before it. It’s enough, though. Her hands move once more over Varric’s, using his strength to close her wound so that her spell might seal it better.

She does not have the good fortune to stay conscious long enough to know if it was enough.

Xxx

She wakes under the open sky, a blanket tucked up under her arms and a pillow beneath her head. _That’s strange_ , she thinks. They’d not brought camping supplies with them.

The sound of laughter reaches her, followed by the smell of some sort of meat being cooked, and her stomach lurches. Quickly, she throws herself from her bedroll and manages to scramble a few feet away before her stomach violently insists on emptying itself in the dirt. She nearly collapses from it, might’ve if not for the strong and sturdy hand that catches her shoulder. “Hey, hey, easy.”

Varric helps her to her feet and moves an arm around her waist to support her. He does not protest when she has to lean nearly all her weight on him, the pounding of her head and the throbbing of her side too hard to fight. She blinks blearily at their surroundings. “The Pit?” she mumbles, taking in the familiar campsite of the workers.

Varric squeezes the hand hanging from his shoulder. “It was closer than Kirkwall. They have a field healer, patched you the rest of the way up.”

“Mm.”

Isabela catches sight of them and zips to Belladonna’s side lightning quick, helping Varric with the weight of their leader. “Bout time you were up,” she chuckled.

“Mm. Thought a nap sounded appropriate,” Belladonna mumbles in an attempt to be humorous.

“Well, now you’re up. Let’s get some food in you, yeah?”

A man approaches quickly, Fenris by his side. “Oh, dearie me. You shouldn’t be walking around just yet, Miss Hawke. There’s still one more round of healing to do before you’re fit for that sort of nonsense,” he chirps, guiding them to set her back down on her bedroll.

Varric kneels with her to get her settled, then takes a seat on the ground by her side. “She was sick. Just now.”

The healer nods as he kneels to fawn over her. “That’s to be expected with a wound as big as she had.”

Fenris stands stoically at the foot of the bedroll, watching the healer with wary eyes, his hands folded in front of him in what Belladonna supposes is an attempt to look even more intimidating than he is. Isabela had disappeared for the moment but manages to return right around the time the healer is asking Belladonna to remove her robes. “Ooh, goodie me, I’ve not missed the show. Here, pet. Some stew for you.”

Belladonna, now topless from the waist up save for her bralette which is sporting a very new and very bad stitch job from where the knife cut it, reaches up and takes the bowl. “Thanks, Bela.” She stares down into the murky broth, swallows a new bout of nausea.

Thankfully, the healer clears his throat. “I will need you to lie back for this, please.”

Varric takes the bowl and sets it down—farther away than was necessary as if he knows it is causing Belladonna distress—and slips his hand into hers. The warmth of it is pleasant, radiates up her arm in a comforting wave, and she clings to it. The healer’s hands are rough from his time working in the mine. They sting the still sensitive skin around her injury when he presses down, and the magic that fills the area is… unskilled. It is distinctly unpleasant, biting and jagged across her flesh, and she must grit her teeth and squeeze Varric’s hand. Her companion does not protest, puts his other hand about hers and rubs circles into the back of it. “I gotcha, Bells,” he whispers.

The healer does not have much left to do, so thankfully the discomfort is over quickly, no more than five or ten minutes. Once he is satisfied, he leans back with a cheeky grin. “There, should be fine now.”

Belladonna glowers at him and leans up with Varric’s help to inspect the damage. She will have a scar now, but she will live. The wound was worse than she’d originally thought, beginning on the inner side of her right breast, down through the middle of her ribcage, then juts sharply down to the top of her left hip. It is an angry shade of red, burns brightly in contrast with what remains of her dried blood around it, but it is closed. Her headache is alleviated somewhat, as well, but not gone. This healer must not be very learned despite his more advanced age. Still, she looks at him and offers her hand. “My thanks, ser.”

He is only too delighted to clasp his hands over hers and nod. “The pleasure was mine, Miss Hawke. Though,” he leans in close, lowers his voice. “The boys and I would take it as a kindness if y’didn’t… report me. There’s lots of wounds need tending in this mine.”

Belladonna just nods, pats his hand gently. “Your secret is safe with us.”

He beams, nods once to her companions, and leaves. Belladonna sighs and scoots up to sit freely. “I feel bad for the poor sods who get hurt in here,” she grumbles.

Fenris is watching the mage walk away. “Hawke,” he begins.

She shakes her head. “No, Fenris. No matter how shitty his abilities are, we won’t turn him in. He did just save my life.”

The elf looks at her and considers her words for a moment. “As you wish.”

Isabela puts her hands on her hips and sighs, “Seeing as you’re not on the verge, I’ll leave you alone for a while.”

“Wait,” Belladonna says. All six eyes are on her, waiting. “I’m in no condition to go down there. Would you lot mind going for me, make sure everything’s alright?”

Isabela and Fenris look at one another and each of them nod. “Sure thing, goose,” Bela says.

Varric shakes his head, squeezes her hand. “Not me. I’m staying here. With you.”

Belladonna regards him a moment then decides he won’t relent. “Alright. Bela, Fen, be careful, right? You break something down there, it’s up to that moron to fix you right, and trust me, you don’t want that.”

They nod and set off for the mines. Varric and Belladonna watch them go until they disappear into the mouth of the mine. “So, what’s up, Vare?”

Varric jumps at the question. “I… Nothing.”

Belladonna turns her gaze to him and raises a brow. “In all four years I’ve known you, Varric Tethras, that is the worst lie I’ve ever heard you tell. Hand me that stew, would you?”

He complies, passing the bowl into her waiting hands. She feels better, enough to maybe stomach a few bites. She looks pointedly at him as she forces the first spoonful down, not letting him forget her question. He won’t meet her gaze, but she knows he’s just looking for the words. Finally, after she has managed to choke the third spoonful down, he sighs and puts his hand on her thigh. “I… I’m so sorry.”

It’s hard to swallow this particular bite, but once it’s down she clears her throat and puts her hand over his. “What do you mean?”

His eyes find hers and they’re filled with raw emotion. “I wasn’t careful enough.”

She blinks then looks down at her injury. “You mean this?”

“…Maker’s balls, yes, Belladonna, I mean that.”

She snorts, talks around another spoonful. “Shit happens, Varric.” Swallows. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, ok? That’s an order. As your boss.”

“My boss, huh? Last I checked, we were partners.” There’s a teasing lilt in his tone, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

She chuckles. The stew is helping more than she’d anticipated. Already she can feel her strength coming back. “Didn’t you hear? I promoted myself, few months back. I’m a bonafide gang leader now.”

“Pfft, and I’m the next Paragon.” He is smiling now, a true smile but it is not easy. This will haunt him for some time, she decides.

“Hey,” she says, reaching for his hand. He looks down as her thumb brushes against his knuckles. “You got a deck of cards?” She beams at him as brightly as she can manage through her headache.

He lightens at the suggestion and rolls his eyes. “You know I do.”

They pass the next hour or so playing cards, nothing much more taxing than _Go Fish._ Finally, she yawns, winces when the stretch agitates her headache. Varric looks upon her with a soft expression. “You should get some more rest, Bells. The others’ll be a while yet.”

“Mm,” she agrees and scoots back down into her bedroll. Her hand reaches out as if of its own volition, and her fingers weave into his. “Stay with me?” she whispers.

The smile he flashes at her is dazzling and wrinkles the bridge of his nose. “Where would I go without you?”

She smiles at that and shuts her eyes, leaving her fingers entwined with his. Sleep takes her quick enough.

Xxx

She gets a good two hours in before the others return and she is awoken. It is now a few hours past midday but not yet evening, and if they want to return with enough time to sell their new wares, they need to be heading out as soon as possible. They thank the healer once more, give him a few silver for his efforts, and are on their way.

The road back to Kirkwall is thankfully much emptier now. Not even so much as a fennec risks crossing their paths. Belladonna must use her staff as a walking cane, but it is not too difficult just to walk. Conversation is scarce, but the silence is not uncomfortable. Varric seems to have resigned himself to staying by her side, a step ahead of her and his hands open and ready to brandish Bianca if necessary. It makes Belladonna feel slightly guilty, but she does not say anything. Her thoughts wander as they walk. As they pass through the scene of their earlier battle, she must pause to observe the scene. Isabela takes this opportunity to loot a few bodies while she can, but Fenris and Varric stop with Belladonna. “What is it?” Fenris says.

She frowns slightly. “I just…” There are scorch marks left on the ground from where she had taken up position, and the assassin she felled for Varric is lying at her feet now. But the distance between them is… significant. “I don’t know how I… I was standing all the way over there. Then I was here. I… How?”

Fenris observes her warily as he normally does when she speaks of magic. “Perhaps, you used a spell?”

She shoots him an exasperated look. “No, Fen, I think I ran the distance in a split second,” she barks sarcastically. She flinches, frowns at herself. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

He shakes his head and waves it off. Varric touches her hand but does not take it. “You were just… there, Hawke. Just,” he snaps for effect. “There.”

Isabela rejoins them, her coin purse jingling far more noisily than earlier. “Are we going to just stand here and stare at dirt all day, or are we going to head out?” she quips.

Belladonna glances at her then sighs. “Yes, yes, alright. Let’s go.”

They set off once more. Isabela chats Fenris’s ear off now that her sense of wealth has returned, but Belladonna’s mind will not wander from the fight, from the question of how she moved like that. The city comes into view in almost no time at all it seems, but she still has no answer. Defeated, she tables it for later dissection and looks to her companions once they reached the Hanged Man. “You guys go ahead, sell your stuff or whatever. I’m going to head on home.” She gives them a tired smile.

Fenris and Isabela both nod and head off towards Darktown, but Varric stays behind. “I’ll walk you home.”

She pats his shoulder and smiles softly. “Nah, that’s ok, Vare. I can make it.”

He looks as though he wants to argue, but he can see she is resolute in going alone. “Ok. But I’m coming to check on you later,” he threatens with a calloused finger.

She chuckles, already walking away, and lifts a hand to him over her shoulder. “I’ll have Bodahn set an extra place at the table for dinner,” she calls. The steps up to Hightown give her a bit of difficulty. Her brain is still fogged from all the stress, and her limbs are still heavy with blood loss. It takes her twice as long as normal to reach the summit, but at least she reaches it. She almost makes it through the marketplace without wanting to stop, but as she passes Jean-Luc, she is reminded of the current state of her robes and sighs.

The man greets her with a hook-toothed grin and a clasped hand over hers. “Welcome, welcome, Mistress Hawke. In need of some new robes, are we?”

“How could you tell?” she teases. Her fingers glide over the robes he has laid out for her.

“And uh, where’s your boyfriend today, Mistress Hawke?”The question throws her for a loop, makes her frown at the merchant. Surely he can’t mean…

“Um. In my mind, I guess?” 

“No, no, the short fella. With the chest hair.” He holds his hand at about the right height that makes her think, _By the Maker, he does. He means Varric. That’s two in one day, what the hell?_

“Um, if you mean Varric, we’re not…” 

“Yes, that’s the one. Cute couple you two make. I say so to my wife every time you two come through.” 

“…Oh. Well. Thank you?” She decides just to move on, make her way back home and sort through the robes she has on hand. “I think I’ll come back tomorrow, if that’s alright? I’m a bit more tired than I thought,” she says lamely.

“Of course, Mistress Hawke.” Jean-Luc bows dramatically and kisses her knuckles. “Á demain.”

Belladonna sets off for home, his words spinning in her mind. Though she tries to brush it off, she can’t stop thinking about it, even now nearly four hours later, washed, dressed, and fed. Is her infatuation that obvious, so much so that even the _robes merchant_ can see it? Though she is no great liar like Varric or actress like Isabela, she thought (hoped) she hid it well, even with their flirtations. _T’would seem not, Bells,_ she thinks. She replays the conversation with Serendipity in her head, too. _“Your boyfriend’s jealous.”_

And with Serendipity’s and the merchant’s words come, too, the reminder of their fight earlier that day. “ _I don’t want to hear about your blasted sexual conquests, Hawke!”_ That, too, had thrown her for a loop. He’s never shown so much as even a modicum of interest in her (probably too frequent) visits to the Hanged Man, but the way he’d acted since finding her in bed that morning had been as if she’d struck him across the face. Then that outburst… What did that mean, then? Was it just her that put him in a bad mood? Something else? If it was just her, why? _Was_ he jealous?  _Why?_

The questions run through her mind almost too fast for her to process, so loud and insistent that she doesn’t hear the door open, doesn’t hear her name being gently spoken. She jumps at the hand on her shoulder and looks up, blushing profusely. “Oh, Varric. I didn’t hear you come in.” 

He raises a brow at her but gestures to a chair, asking permission to sit which she grants with a wave of her hand. He settles in across from her and rubs his face. “I want to… I wanna apologize, Bells. For earlier, before.... When I yelled at you. I was…” He clears his throat. “I was out of line.” 

Belladonna blinks. “I… Thank you, Varric. I’m sorry, too, for… making you uncomfortable or whatever. I promise, I’ll keep my bedroom excursion talk to a minimum, ok?” 

He looks as if he wants to say more, to talk more, but he seems to put it aside. She can see his fist clenching and unclenching by his side, as if something is bothering him, but she does not want to push it. They sit together for a time, enjoying the fire that is burning a little too brightly for the amount of wood within it. Nearly half an hour goes by in silence before she remembers the merchant and his words. “So, something interesting happened on my way home.” The words startle her as much as him. She’d not intended to actually say them. 

“Mm?” he hums.

“I stopped by Jean-Luc’s stall to look at his robes. And he asked. Well. Apparently, Varric, everyone thinks we’re a couple.” 

Varric snorts and smirks. “I know, Bells.” 

Something in the way he says her nickname, softer than usual and with a hint of something she can’t put her finger on, it makes butterflies stir in her stomach. “You know?” she whispers. “It doesn’t… It doesn’t bother you?” 

He looks at her then, and perhaps it’s the fire reflected in his sweetly amber eyes, but they feel fuller than usual. “Should it?” Then, as if realizing how softly he’d said it, he clears his throat and straightens, and the fullness was gone from his gaze. “I mean. Does it bother you? I can certainly do worse as far as fake lovers go, but…” 

 _But?_ The word hangs between them for a heavy moment.  _But? Butbutbut? But what? “_ I…” It hits her, then. Why he’d been so upset with her. Why the butterflies are multiplying by the microsecond. Why their banter flows so easily and naturally between them.  _“Your boyfriend is jealous.” Andraste’s ass, Serendipity…_ “I…” Standing. She is standing now. He looks up at her, confused and almost a little afraid. “Varric, I–” 

There’s a clearing of a throat from the doorway, and Belladonna jumps so bad she hurts her side. Her hand goes to it automatically as she looks at Bodahn. “Dinner is served, Messere.”

 _Wonderful timing, Bodahn, really, jolly good._ She glances at Varric then nods at her man. “Thank you, Bodahn.” The former merchant bows ever so slightly and slips off into the next room.

Varric is looking at her. “Bells…” He stands, then, crosses the last few feet to her. “I… I’m no good at writing romances, Bells, but if I were…” His rough hands take hers, and he averts his gaze to the ground. “If I were… I think this would be the part where the devastatingly handsome dwarf tells the beautiful human he… He loves her.”

Belladonna’s breath hitches in her throat, and her mind goes blank. Varric, taking her sudden silence in completely the wrong way, blushes furiously and takes his hands back after a moment. “But, but of course, I’m no good at that kind of stuff so that’s not how I—”

His words are cut off when her hand moves to his cheek, turns his face back towards her. She’s trembling, from fear, from excitement, she doesn’t know, but when his hand moves up to hold her wrist and his cheek turns ever so slightly into her palm, it feels… right.

“And… How would the devastatingly handsome dwarf say such a thing?” she whispers.

His eyes flick across her face, studying the expression she has on it, and she has to wonder what he sees printed there, what words he would use to describe her. “He would say…” He takes a small step closer, moves his free hand to hers and brushes his fingertips along the length of her palm. “He would say that she is the bravest woman he has ever known.” Their fingers link together. “The most beautiful woman he has ever seen.” Another step closer. “That everything about her is simply incomprehensibly astounding.” She’s leaning down, her hand beginning to slip to the back of his neck. “That he loves her more than he has ever loved anything in this world…” he finishes with a breath before their lips just barely brush against one another’s, a hair’s breadth from actually touching.

Belladonna smiles softly, her eyes drifting shut at the proximity. “And… What might she say?” she breathes.

“Well, hopefully, something along the lines of, ‘Oh, mister dwarf, you’re so handsome and valiant and—‘” Belladonna bursts into laughter at his falsetto voice, the seriousness of the moment dashed away, but he grins at her amusement.

She looks at him again until her laughter is suddenly cut off, and they stare at one another for a long moment before lips are crushed against lips, hands are fisting in hair, bodies are pressed together, tongues are thrusting against each other. Varric pushes her backwards, his hands traveling her body before she is shoved against the bookshelf with a _thud_. Belladonna moans, a knee moving up to Varric’s hip which leads to his hand moving to hold her ass. It’s wild, passionate, frankly a little gross, but it’s been _so long_ coming. Varric’s hand moves from her ass up towards her breast, but Belladonna hisses in pain, eyes flying open. Varric freezes instantly, his hand ripped away from her body as realization dawns on him. “I-I’m so sorry, Bells, I—”

She smiles at him, breathless, blushing, and shakes her head. “It’s alright.” Realizing their position, she blushes furiously and slips her leg from his hip and brushes her hair behind her ear self-consciously. “Um. We… We should go eat. Before… Before Bodahn charges in.”

He nods and steps back, righting his shirt as he does. The air between them is tense, neither one eager to look the other in the eye. Varric turns to leave first, but Belladonna catches his hand and locks her fingers with his. “Varric?” she whispers.

He looks back at her. “Yeah, Bells?”

She swallows hard and steps closer to place a warm kiss upon his cheek. “I do, you know.”

“Know what, Bells?”

“Love you.” She glances away for a moment then looks back at him shyly. He’s looking at her with watery eyes that he tries to hide by turning away, but it’s not enough that she can’t see his absolute beaming grin.

“Thank the Maker,” he chuckles.

XXXXX Present Day XXXXX

Cassandra blushed as Belladonna concluded her bit of the story and tried to hide her grin behind her cup of water. “That certainly is… romantic,” she mumbled.

Belladonna chuckled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I like to think so.” With a yawn, she rose to her feet and gave Cassandra a slight smile. “If you’ll excuse me, Cassandra.”  

“Of course,” the Seeker said. She watched as Belladonna set off to the side door to retire for the evening and pondered over the tale she’d just been told. She looked down into her flagon and frowned at her reflection, and for not the first time that day did she curse herself for bringing those two pain.


End file.
